:SE    LIBRARY 

Y  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
MAR  11  1893 


PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND 
CRITICISM 


BY 

BROTHER  AZARIAS 

OF  THE  BROTHERS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  SCHOOLS 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND  COMPANY 
&fe  Riter^iDe  preitf, 
1893 


Copyright,  1892, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved 


SECOND  EDITION. 


The  Rivertide  Prett,  Cambridge,  Ma**.,  U.  8.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


Acs' 


PEEFACE. 


A  LARGE  portion  of  the  present  volume  has  al- 
ready appeared  in  print,  some  of  it  in  pamphlets 
and  some  in  the  pages  of  the  "  American  Catholic 
Quarterly  Keview."  Part  was  read  before  young 
men  pursuing  their  studies ;  part,  before  the  Con- 
cord School  of  Philosophy,  and  part,  before  the 
International  Congress  of  Education  held  in  New 
Orleans  in  1885.  The  original  matter  has  been 
revised,  partly  rewritten,  and  coordinated  with  the 
view  of  making  apparent  the  unity  of  design  and 
continuity  of  thought  running  through  the  whole 
book. 

The  chapter  treating  of  Newman  might  have 
been  developed  to  greater  length,  now  that  its  sub- 
ject has  passed  away  and  a  variety  of  opinions  has 
been  pronounced  upon  him ;  but  as  the  pen-picture 
here  given,  outlined  about  fourteen  years  ago, 
found  recognition  and  approval  at  the  hand  of 
that  eminent  Thinker  himself,  the  author  deemed 
it  best  not  to  disturb  its  original  dimensions,  and 
contented  himself  with  the  filling  in  of  a  few  addi- 
tional strokes. 


iv  PREFACE 

The  latter  part  of  the  volume  is  occupied  with 
the  interpretation  of  three  of  the  world's  master- 
pieces. They  are  analyzed  and  their  underlying 
meaning  is  explained  from  the  point  of  view  of 
thought  and  criticism  expressed  in  the  first  seven 
chapters.  In  the  philosophical  principle  wrought 
into  the  mysticism  of  the  book  "De  Imitatione 
Christi,"  in  the  spiritual  sense  giving  unity  to  the 
"  Divina  Commedia,"  and  in  the  mystical  elements, 
partly  Christian,  partly  neo-Platonic,  entering  into 
the  structure  of  "  In  Memoriam,"  it  is  sought  to 
determine  the  soul  giving  life  and  being  to  each 
of  these  works  as  an  organic  whole.  Each  expresses 
a  distinct  phase  of  thought,  and  is  the  outcome  of 
a  distinct  social  and  intellectual  force.  Each  em- 
bodies a  vivifying  ideal.  The  criticism  that  busies 
itself  solely  with  the  literary  form  is  superficial. 
For  food  it  gives  husks. 

DE  LA  SALLE  INSTITUTE,  NEW  YOBK,  May  4,  1892. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  FOURFOLD  ACTIVITY  OF  THE  SOUL    ....  1 

II.  ON  THINKING 5 

III.  EMERSON  AND  NEWMAN  AS  TYPES    ....  13 

IV.  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THOUGHT          ....  24 
V.  LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC  HABITS  OF  THOUGHT     .  39 

VI.  THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT 56 

VII.  CULTURE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  SENSE   .        .        .  .72 

VIII.  SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION     ...  89 

IX.  SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  .  .  125 

X.  SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM       .        .        .  183 

XL  CONCLUSION 265 

INDEX  .  269 


PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND 
CKITICISM 


CHAPTER   I. 

/ 

FOURFOLD   ACTIVITY   OF  THE   SOUL. 

1.  THE  human  soul  is  the  informing  principle  of 
the  human  body;  it  is  one  and  simple  —  a  monad 
without   quantity  or  extension  —  as   all   spiritual 
substances  are  one,   simple   and   unextended;  in- 
complete in  itself,  inasmuch  as  it  must  needs  be 
united  to  the  body  in  order  that  it  may  fully  exer- 
cise many  of  its  functions ;  immaterial,  and  there- 
fore  void  of   inertness;   active   in   its   operations 
from  the  first  moment  of  its  existence.     According 
to  the  mode  of  the  soul's  action  do  we  speak  of  it 
as  having  this  faculty  or  that  corresponding  to  the 
function  which   it  performs.     Some  faculties  are 
intrinsic  to  the  soul  itself,   as  reason;  others,  as 
the  imagination,  are  dependent  upon  the  union  of 
soul  and  body. 

2.  Although  the  essence  of  the  soul  is  not   the 
immediate  principle  of  its  operations,  and  although 
its  faculties  are   distinct  from  its  essence,  being 
in   themselves  certain  properties  thereof,  it  is  still 
the  same  soul,  one  and  undivided,  that  thinks  and 


2      PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

feels,  that  wills  and  moves  and  is  moved.  It  is 
still  the  same  conscious  personality,  that  amid 
ever  -  shifting  changes  can  always  recognize  its 
own  identity  in  the  formula  /  am  I.  When  we 
say  that  the  soul  has  certain  faculties,  we  simply 
mean  that  it  exercises  certain  modes  of  action 
by  placing  itself  in  certain  definite  relations  with 
certain  objects  of  thought. 

3.  Faculties  of  the  soul  are  therefore  the  soul 
itself  operating  upon  particular  lines  of  action, 
and  each  faculty  becomes  more  or  less  developed 
in  proportion  to  the  degree  of  activity  exercised  by 
the  soul  in  some  one  or  other  direction.  Let  us 
consider  some  of  the  soul's  activities.  Now  it  is 
the  soul  analyzing,  comparing,  inferring,  coordi- 
nating, passing  from  known  principles  to  the  dis- 
covery of  unknown  truths ;  viewed  in  this  relation, 
the  soul  is  called  Keason,  and,  under  certain 
aspects,  the  Illative  Sense.1  Now  it  is  the  soul 
deciding  this  to  be  a  good  act,  and  feeling  bound  to 
perform  it,  or  thinking  that  other  to  be  bad,  and 
feeling  bound  to  avoid  it;  so  acting,  it  is  called 
the  Moral  Sense.  Again,  it  is  the  soul  moved  to 
pity  by  the  pathos  of  a  scene  painted  on  the  canvas 
or  described  in  the  poem ;  as  the  subject  of  this 
emotion  it  is  called  the  ^Esthetic  Sense.  Finally, 
it  is  the  soul  leaving  the  noise  and  distraction  of 
the  outside  world,  entering  into  itself  and  realizing 

1  "  This  power  of  judging  about  truth  and  error  iu  concrete 
matters,  I  call  the  Illative  Sense."  ..."  The  Illative  Sense  has 
its  exercise  in  the  starting-points  as  well  as  in  the  final  results  of 
thought."  Cardinal  Newman,  Grammar  of  Assent,  chap.  ix.  This 
chapter  is  an  important  contribution  to  the  philosophy  of  thought; 


FOURFOLD  ACTIVITY  OF  THE  SOUL         3 

its  own  misery  and  weakness,  and  seeking  the  help 
and  strength  which  it  finds  not  in  itself,  where 
alone  help  and  strength  are  to  be  found,  in  the 
God  from  whom  it  comes  and  on  whom  it  depends  ; 
in  this  highest  and  noblest  action  it  is  called  the 
Spiritual  Sense. 

4.  The  Keason  is  nourished  by  intellectual  truth ; 
the  Moral  Sense  is  strengthened  by  the  continu- 
ous choosing  of  right-doing  over  wrong-doing;  the 
^Esthetic  Sense  is  cultivated  by  the  correcting  and 
refining  of  taste  for  things  beautiful  and  sublime ; 
the  Spiritual  Sense  is  fostered  by  the  spirit  of  piety 
and  devotion.     This  fourfold  activity  of  the  soul 
may  be  said  to  cover  the  whole  of  the  soul's  opera- 
tions.    Over  all,  and  the  root  and  principle  of  all, 
giving  life  and  being,   weight  and  measure  and 
moral  worth  to  all,  is  the  soul's  own  determining 
power,  which  we  call  the  Will. 

5.  In  the  harmonious  development  of  all  four 
activities  is  the   complete   culture  of   the  soul  to 
be  effected.     The  exclusive  exercise  of  any  one  ac- 
tivity is  detrimental  to  the  rest.     The  exclusive 
exercise   of   the   Reason   dwarfs   the   other  func- 
tions of  the  soul.      It  dries  up  all  taste  for  art 
and  letters   and   starves   out   the   spirit  of   piety 
and   devotion.       In  the  constant  development   of 
the   ^Esthetic   Sense,   one  may  refine  the   organs 
of  sense  and  cultivate  taste   and   sensibility,   but 
if  it   is   done  to   the  exclusion  of   rigid  reasoning 
and  the  superior  emotions  of  the  soul,  it  degene- 
rates into  sentimentalism  and  corruption  of  heart. 
So   also   with   exclusive   Pietism;  it  narrows  the 


4      PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

range  of  thought,  fosters  the  spirit  of  bigotry  and 
dogmatism,  and  makes  man  either  an  extravagant 
dreamer  or  an  extreme  fanatic.  Only  when  truth 
and  goodness  walk  hand  in  hand,  and  the  heart 
grows  apace  with  the  intellect,  does  the  soul  de- 
velop into  strong  healthy  action. 

6.  Again,  truth  is  the  object  of  Reason;  good- 
ness,   the    object   of    the    Moral   Sense;    beauty, 
whether   in   the   physical,    moral,    or    intellectual 
order,  the  object  of  the  ^Esthetic  Sense.     Herein 
I  include    as  a  truth  knowable   by  the   light   of 
reason,  the  fact  first  and  supreme  above  all  other 
facts,   that  there  is  a  God.1     Now,  the  Spiritual 
Sense  takes  in  all  the  truth,  goodness,  and  beauty 
of  both  the  natural  and  revealed  orders,  and  views 
them  in  the  light  of  Faith.     The  same  intellectual 
light  still  glows,  but  added  thereto  is,  so  to  speak, 
the  splendor  of  God's  countenance.2 

7.  This  fourfold  activity  of  the  soul  does  not 
correspond  to  any  four  special  faculties.     It  repre- 
sents rather  four  distinct  fields  upon  which  all  the 
faculties  operate.     But  we  are  not  here  concerned 
with  the  intrinsic  nature  of  our  respective  facul- 
ties.   We  leave  that  to  the  psychologist.    We  will 
consider  those  faculties  rather  in  their  operations 
and  in  their  practical  applications.     And  first,  let 
us  study  that  process  of  the  mind  in  which  the  Illa- 
tive Sense  is   included,   and  which  is  commonly 
called  thinking. 

1  Constitutio  Dogmatica  de  Fide  Catholica,  can.  ii.  1. 

2  Illuminet  vultum  suum  super  nos.      Psalm  Ixvi.  2. 


CHAPTER  II. 
ON  THINKING. 


1.  WE  read,  we  converse,  we  write,  we  argue, 
we  discuss  men  and  measures ;  but  not  to  the  same 
extent  do  we  think  aright.  Let  us  then  seek  to 
determine  what  is  right  thinking.  It  is  in  the 
workings  of  daily  life  to  still  the  voices  of  reverie 
and  sentiment  and  the  inclinations  of  nature,  and 
listen  to  the  language  of  reason ;  it  is  to  analyze 
and  discriminate ;  it  is  to  ask  the  why  and  where- 
fore of  things,  to  estimate  them  at  their  real  worth, 
and  to  give  them  their  proper  names ;  it  is  to  dis- 
tinguish between  what  is  of  opinion  and  what  of 
speculation  —  what  of  reason  and  inference,  and 
what  of  fancy  and  imagination  —  how  much  is  to 
be  considered  certain  and  how  much  merely  prob- 
able ;  it  is  to  give  the  true  and  the  false  their  real 
values ;  it  is  to  lay  down  a  clearly  defined  line  be- 
tween what  is  of  true  science  and  what  of  surmise 
and  conjecture;  it  is  to  know  where  one's  know- 
ledge ends  and  where  one's  ignorance  begins;  above 
all,  it  is  to  arrive  at  that  condition  of  mind  in  which 
one  can  determine  how  and  when  to  express  what 
one  knows,  and  in  which  one  performs  the  more 
difficult  feat  of  abstaining  from  speaking  about 


6     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

that  of  which  one  knows  nothing.  This  it  is  to 
think.  Need  one  be  any  longer  surprised  that  it 
is  an  unknown  science  to  all  but  the  few  thought- 
ful, well-disciplined  minds  that  may  be  called  the 
educators  of  the  world? 

2.  Withal,  Thought  is  a  most  important  ele- 
ment in  our  acting.  "Weigh  its  importance  for  a 
moment.  There  is  no  life  without  action.  Now 
the  soul's  activity  consists  in,  and  is  determined 
by,  its  thought.  We  first  feel  and  think ;  after- 
wards we  will;  then  follow  action  and  expression, 
which  are  the  outward  evidence  of  our  inmost  liv- 
ing. So  that  our  expressions,  our  actions,  our  very 
lives  are  ours  in  proportion  as  they  are  the  outcome 
of  our  own  thinking  and  our  own  resolve,  and  not 
of  the  thinking  and  the  resolve  of  others.  Not  in- 
deed that  we  all  are  not  in  some  sense  the  creatures 
of  circumstance.  But  though  influenced  by  the 
external  world  —  though  the  thoughts  and  actions 
of  others  necessarily  condition  our  own  thinking 
and  acting  —  still,  as  the  plant  transforms  into  its 
sap  the  food  it  draws  from  the  earth  in  which  it  is 
rooted,  even  thus  should  the  thought  we  acquire, 
the  action  we  imitate,  the  impulse  we  receive,  be 
so  assimilated  into  our  own  nature  and  personality 
that  they  become  bone  of  the  bone  and  flesh  of  the 
flesh  of  our  thinking  soul  and  our  moral  character. 

n. 

1.  It  follows  that  our  duties  as  thinking,  rational 
beings  are  not  compatible  with  that  mental  lethargy 


ON  THINKING  7 

in  which  we  all  of  us  are  disposed  to  live.  It  is  so 
much  easier  for  us  to  remember  and  repeat  than  to 
think,  that  the  large  majority  of  us  leave  the  think- 
ing to  a  few  and  abide  by  the  word  of  the  hour  they 
choose  to  give  us.  We  are  living  in  an  atmosphere 
of  routine  knowledge  and  of  a  routine  manner  of 
imparting  that  knowledge ;  and  both  the  knowledge 
and  the  manner  are  not  infrequently  accepted  with- 
out questioning  their  intrinsic  worth,  or  their  cor- 
rectness, or  their  fitness  for  time  and  place.  The 
professor  is  under  the  influence  of  this  spirit.  In 
the  lecture -room  he  is  often  content  with  retailing 
to  his  class  some  view  of  his  subject  which  he 
adopts  from  a  certain  book  without  taking  pains  to 
inquire  into  its  correctness ;  the  author  of  that  book 
may  have  taken  it  on  the  same  credit  from  some 
prior  work,  and  thus  the  opinion  passes  down  from 
generation  to  generation  —  unsuspected,  unchal- 
lenged. Does  it  follow  that  the  opinion  is  correct  ? 
By  no  means.  An  inquiring  mind  may  one  morn- 
ing awaken  to  the  absurdity  of  what  generations 
have  handed  down  as  a  truth  not  to  be  gainsaid. 
Witness  the  exploded  theories  still  to  be  found  in 
text-books  on  chemistry  and  physics;  or  see  the 
hold  that  erroneously  constructed  grammars  of  the 
English  language  continue  to  have  upon  our  educa- 
tional prejudices;  or  in  history,  note  the  gravity 
with  which  our  manuals  repeat  the  myths  of  Se- 
miramis  and  Ninias,  of  Romulus  and  Remus,  of 
Hengist  and  Horsa. 

2.  Passing  beyond  the  class-room  to  the  various 
phases  of  thought  among  the  reading  public,  we 


8     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

find  the  same  spirit.  Every  school  of  philosophy 
has  its  disciples  who  repeat  the  sayings  of  their 
master  with  implicit  confidence,  without  ever 
stopping  to  question  the  principles  from  which 
those  sayings  arise  or  the  results  to  which  they 
lead.  Which  of  them  possesses 'the  truth?  Is  it 
Hegel  or  is  it  Schopenhauer?  Is  it  Herbert  Spen- 
cer or  is  it  Mill?  If  we  are  to  believe  their  re- 
spective admirers,  each  of  them  holds  the  secret  of 
all  things  in  heaven  and  on  earth  —  the  clue  to  all 
difficulties  —  the  solution  to  the  world-riddle.  But 
when  we  place  their  principles  side  by  side  we  find 
in  them  contradiction  enough  to  create  a  chaos, 
and  we  are  led  to  conclude  that  in  many  instances 
these  systems  are  accepted  not  so  much  for  truth's 
sake  as  because  they  are  the  intellectual  fashions 
of  the  day.  So  it  is  with  schools  of  criticism  in 
art  and  literature.  Ruskin  has  talked  thousands 
into  a  factitious  taste  that  pretends  to  admire 
beauties  to  be  found  nowhere  outside  of  the  gla- 
mour his  fervid  imagination  has  thrown  around 
objects  of  art.  Paint  a  daub  and  call  it  a  Turner 
and  forthwith  these  critics  will  trace  in  it  strokes 
of  genius.  Think  you  they  understand  the  real 
principles  of  art  -  criticism  ?  And  fares  it  any 
better  with  the  Wordsworthian  who  finds  praise 
for  Wordsworth's  baldest  and  prosiest  lines,  or 
with  the  Shelleyite  who  sees  a  mystic  meaning  in 
Shelley's  most  meaningless  rhapsodies,  or  with  the 
Browningite  who  persists  in  finding  in  Browning's 
poems  meanings  that  the  poet  himself  never  put 
into  them,  and  which  he  even  disavowed?  The 


ON  THINKING  9 

education  of  all  such  schools,  when  made  exclusive, 
is  one-sided,  narrow,  content  with  no  other  proof 
than  a  prejudice.  True  criticism,  be  it  that  of 
literature  or  of  art,  is  all-embracing. 

3.  Turning  to  politics,  we  find  that  same  groove- 
spirit.  Men  repeat  the  cant  of  the  hour  glibly, 
smoothly,  often  eloquently,  as  innocent  of  what  it 
all  means  as  the  child  not  yet  arrived  at  the  use  of 
reason.  They  have  no  further  cause  for  belong- 
ing to  one  party  rather  than  to  another  than  that 
they  happen  to  find  themselves  there.  It  was  the 
party  to  which  their  fathers  belonged,  and  is  there- 
fore good  enough  for  them.  But  as  to  seeking  the 
rational  grounds  on  which  their  political  creed  is 
constructed,  or  the  principles  that  give  existence  to 
their  party,  such  things  never  occurred  to  them. 
Grounds  and  principles  were  not  included  in  the 
shibboleth  of  the  hour  that  they  took  up  and  re- 
peated. And  so  they  go  on,  year  after  year,  in  a 
well-worn  routine  of  political  thought,  till  a  crisis 
comes  upon  them,  and  they  are  led  to  think,  and 
mayhap  they  find  that  they  have  been  half  their 
lives  —  and  all  from  want  of  real  thought  —  advo- 
cating a  policy  unsound  in  its  nature,  disastrous  in 
its  results,  and  opposed  to  their  own  inner  convic- 
tions. That  man  has  yet  to  learn  the  use  of  his 
reason,  who,  in  all  matters  based  upon  individual 
opinion,  whether  they  be  of  politics  or  religion,  has 
never  challenged  and  weighed  and  measured  the 
principles  upon  which  his  opinions  are  based. 

4.  The  uneducated  classes  cannot  make  use  of 
their  reason  in  this  searching  manner ;  it  may  be 


10    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

as  well  for  them  that  it  is  so ;  but  the  educated  man 
owes  it  to  the  reason  with  which  he  has  been  en- 
dowed —  to  his  friends  and  neighbors  who  look  to 
him  for  a  guiding  word  —  as  a  sacred  duty  for  which 
he  will  have  to  render  an  account  to  his  Maker, 
so  to  train  and  discipline  his  thoughts  that  he 
shall  acquire  a  habit  of  thinking  and  judging  with 
discrimination.  When  a  young  man  has  been  so 
favored  by  Providence  as  to  be  enabled  to  spend 
several  years  in  acquiring  a  thorough  education, 
surrounded  by  everything  calculated  to  inspire  him 
with  a  love  for  study  and  a  thoughtful  habit  of 
mind,  breathing  an  intellectual  atmosphere  that 
becomes  an  essential  part  of  his  thinking,  he  there- 
by assumes  a  great  responsibility.  If  he  has  been 
so  privileged,  it  is  in  view  of  his  making  use  of  the 
opportunities  placed  at  his  disposal,  not  for  himself 
alone,  but  for  his  less  fortunate  neighbor  as  well. 
If  he  has  been  favored  with  a  more  brilliant  light, 
it  is  with  intent  to  illumine  the  dark  places  around. 
If  education  has  been  freely  lavished  upon  him, 
it  is  in  order  that  in  turn  he  may  freely  lavish  it 
upon  the  wide  circle  over  which  he  is  destined  to 
have  influence.  Therefore  it  cannot  be  too  sol- 
emnly impressed  upon  those  enjoying  this  privilege 
to  fit  themselves  in  all  earnestness,  both  morally  and 
intellectually,  to  do  the  good  that  it  is  given  them 
to  do.  It  is  well  that  we  all  of  us  hold  an  exalted 
opinion  of  the  real  dignity  of  our  respective  posi- 
tions in  life.  To  the  student  whom  these  pages 
reach  I  would  say :  Gather  up  with  care  the  treasures 
of  knowledge  and  wisdom  that  lie  strewn  about 


ON  THINKING  11 

you.  Guard  them  with  a  jealous  eye.  See  that  they 
be  not  sullied  either  by  the  daubing  of  error  or  the 
turpitude  of  vice.  Cherish  them  as  a  heaven-sent 
patrimony  by  the  right  use  and  investment  of  which 
you  are  to  purchase  your  title  to  eternal  glory.  All 
else  may  pass  away,  but  the  wisdom  of  well-digested 
knowledge  and  methodical  thought  remains  through 
sunshine  and  storm,  making  the  sunshine  more 
beautiful  and  the  storm  less  severe. 

5.  There  is  some  truth  in  these  remarks  of  the 
eccentric  Thoreau :  "  It  is  foolish  for  a  man  to  ac- 
cumulate material  wealth  chiefly,  houses  and  lands. 
Our  stock  in  life,  our  real  estate,  is  that  amount 
of  thought  which  we  have  had,  which  we  have 
thought  out.  The  ground  we  have  thus  created  is 
forever  pasturage  for  our  thoughts.  I  fall  back  on 
to  visions  which  I  have  had.  What  else  adds  to 
my  possessions  and  makes  me  rich  in  all  lands? 
If  you  have  ever  done  any  work  with  those  finest 
tools,  the  Imagination  and  Fancy  and  Reason,  it  is 
a  new  creation,  independent  of  the  world,  and  a 
possession  forever.  You  have  laid  up  something 
against  a  rainy  day.  You  have  to  that  extent 
cleared  the  wilderness."1  But  I  would  have  you 
enjoy  all  this  intellectual  wealth,  not  simply  for  its 
own  sake  and  in  a  spirit  of  self-sufficiency  and  self- 
contentment,  as  the  New  England  hermit  teaches. 
Thoreau  is  only  a  human  mole.  He  lives  in  the 
earth,  and  his  thoughts  and  aspirations  are  of  the 
earth,  earthy.  He  ignores  the  clear  sky  of  a  spir- 
itual world  and  the  brilliant  sunshine  of  a  divine 

i  Journal,  May  1,  1857. 


12     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

revelation.  It  is  under  this  sky  and  in  this  sun- 
light I  would  have  you  learn  how  to  think.  Con- 
fine not  your  thoughts  in  the  narrow  cell  of  a  petty 
prejudice,  or  the  slough  of  indolence,  or  the  con- 
tracted limits  of  comfort  and  ease,  when  you  can 
roam  through  the  free  air  of  the  Infinite.  There- 
fore, discipline  your  minds.  Be  not  too  credulous. 
There  is  a  wise  as  well  as  a  foolish  skepticism. 
Science  has  her  superstitions,  and  her  romancings 
are  as  unreal  and  shadowy  as  those  of  the  most 
ephemeral  literature.  Accustom  yourselves  to  the 
habit  of  weighing  carefully  all  you  read  or  hear. 
Be  not  carried  away  by  every  novelty.  Learn  to 
sift  the  chaff  from  the  grain.  Remember  that  he 
is  not  the  most  learned  man  who  has  read  the  great- 
est number  of  books.  Only  in  proportion  as  you 
digest  and  assimilate  to  your  own  thoughts  what 
you  read  do  you  acquire  genuine  knowledge.  Out 
of  the  world's  thousand  ideas  make  a  single  one 
your  own,  and  I  assure  you  that  you  will  have  made 
more  intellectual  progress  than  if  you  were  able  to 
repeat  Homer  or  Milton  from  memory. 


CHAPTER  in. 

EMERSON  AND  NEWMAN   AS  TYPES. 

1 

1.  THAT  we  may  all  the  better  understand  the 
nature  and  scope  of  sound  thinking,  let  us  consider 
two  typical  thinkers  of  recent  days,  dwelling  in 
different  hemispheres  of   our   globe,    standing   at 
opposite  poles  of  human  thought,  and  at  the  same 
time  recognized   masters  of   their  own  language. 
They  both   possessed  this  in  common,  that  each 
was  retiring,  sensitive,   shrinking  from  mere  no- 
toriety, not  over-anxious  to  speak,  and  speaking 
only  when  each  had  something  to  say.     They  were 
loved  in  life,  and  in  death  their  memories  are  re- 
vered by  all  who  knew  them ;  they  are  still  admired 
by  thousands  and  still  misunderstood  by  thousands 
more. 

2.  One  of  these  thinkers  is  Kalph  Waldo  Em- 
erson.    His  was  a  mind  like  the  JEolism  harp.    It 
was  awake  to  the  most  delicate  impressions,  and  at 
every  breath  of  thought  it  gave  out  a  music  all  its 
own.     His  sympathies  with  Nature  were  so  strong, 
so  intense,  so  real,  that  they  seemed  to  take  root  with 
the  plant,  to  infuse  themselves  into  the  brute  crea- 
tion, and  to  think  and  act  with  his  fellow-man. 
His  reading  was  broad.     From  the  East  and  from 


14     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

the  West  he  gathered  the  sweets  of  all  philoso- 
phic systems  and  all  literatures,  and  in  the  labo- 
ratory of  his  brain  wrought  them  into  his  own 
peculiar  honey-comb  of  thought  and  expression. 
The  deeper  realities  of  life  he  overlooked.  Those 
chasms  that  reveal  whatever  is  revolting  in  life's 
squalor  and  misery,  those  seamy  sides  which  Tol- 
stoi' and  Ibsen  place  before  us,  were  ignored  by 
Emerson.  His  intellectual  vision  was  too  near- 
sighted to  perceive  them.  A  thing,  be  it  an  insti- 
tution, or  a  custom,  or  a  habit,  exists;  that  suffices, 
for  Emerson ;  it  must  therefore  be  good,  and  useful, 
and  beautiful  in  its  own  way.  He  is  a  passionate 
lover  of  the  beautiful ;  he  would  reduce  all  morality 
to  a  code  of  esthetics.  Beauty  of  thought,  beauty 
of  expression,  beauty  of  action,  beauty  of  manners, 
—  these  are  the  outcome  of  his  philosophy.  Su- 
preme culture  is  for  him  supreme  human  perfec- 
tion. 

3.  However,  we  must  not  forget  that  Emerson  is 
a  thinker  who  has  learned  how  to  assimilate  the  best 
thoughts  of  the  best  writers  and  make  them  fruc- 
tify in  his  own  mind.  His  lines  of  thought  are  nar- 
row, but  he  thinks  on  them  intensely.  Not  infre- 
quently his  language  only  half  expresses  that  which 
his  mind  labors  to  give  utterance  to.  Some  of  his 
assertions  are  riddles.  He  speaks  with  the  mys- 
teriousness  of  the  Sphinx.  "We  use  semblances 
of  logic,"  he  tells  us,  "until  experience  puts  us  in 
possession  of  real  logic."1  Wherefore  he  disdains 
argument.  He  will  not  reason  with  you.  He  is 

1  Letters  and  Social  Aims,  p.  9. 


EMERSON  AND  NEWMAN  AS  TYPES      15 

content  to  throw  out  the  hint  or  the  suggestion ; 
you  may  take  it  or  leave  it.  He  never  obtrudes 
his  views  upon  you.  None  the  less  does  he  pose  as 
a  thinker  and  a  prophet.  He  is  the  Sir  Oracle 
of  Transcendentalism.  But  on  life  and  death  and 
immortality,  Emerson  is  no  wiser  than  the  books 
he  consults ;  nay,  not  as  wise  as  some. 

4.  Unfortunately  for  Emerson  and  the  value  of 
his  utterances,  he  ignores  the  supernatural  in  man. 
His  view  of  religion  is  that  religion  is  a  merely 
human  institution.     He  is  tolerant  only  in  certain 
directions.     He   has    never    acquired    the   large- 
sightedness  that  is  expected  from  a  man  of  his  cul- 
ture.    Let  him  expatiate  on  the  Nature  he  loves, 
on  society,  on  manners,  on  experience,  on  represen- 
tative men,  on  letters  and  social  aims,  and  he  is  ad- 
mirable, suggestive,  original ;  but  once  he  descends 
to  concrete  living  issues,  we  find  only  the  lifeless 
bones  of  intolerance  dressed  up  with  the  time-worn 
garments  of  New  England  puritanical  prejudices. 
I  hold  this  truly  eminent  writer  and  thinker  up  to 
the  reader  that  the  reader  may  learn  both  from  his 
strength  and  his  weakness.    One  can  no  more  make 
a  model  of  his  mind  than  one  can  of  his  style. 
He  is  in  some  respects  a  law  unto  himself.     The 
secret  of  his  success  lies  in  this :  that  he  does  not 
isolate  a  thought ;  he  studies  its  relations  as  far  as 
his  intellectual  vision  ranges. 

5.  Emerson  had  other  limitations.     He  sought 
truth  in  every  religious  and   philosophical  system 
outside  of  the  teachings  of  the  Catholic  Church. 
He  attempted   to   embrace   all   systems,    showing 


16     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

thereby  that  he  understood  none.  In  vain  is  he  read 
for  a  consistent  moral  code  or  a  complete  philosophic 
creed;  groping  through  his  books  one  not  infre- 
quently finds  shadow  taken  for  substance,  dream 
for  reality,  Emerson  for  truth.  Whole  worlds  of 
thought  lie  hidden  from  his  vision  as  they  stand 
enveloped  within  the  umbra  of  Self  projected  into 
intellectual  space.  Still,  his  side-views  and  his 
half -utterances  are  suggestive.  The  reading  of  him 
with  understanding  is  a  mental  tonic,  bracing  for 
the  cultured  intellect  as  is  the  Alpine  air  for  the 
mountaineer.  Could  one  imbibe  his  sympathy  for 
Nature  without  becoming  imbued  with  his  panthe- 
ism ;  could  one  acquire  his  culture  without  the  dilet- 
tanteism  that  accompanies  it ;  could  one  make  his 
love  for  the  beautiful  in  all  shapes  and  under  all 
conditions  one's  own, — looking  above  all  beyond 
the  mere  surface  into  the  deeper  and  more  spir- 
itual beauty  of  things,  —  one  would  be  learning  a 
valuable  lesson  from  Emerson's  intellectual  life. 


II. 

1.  Now  that  we  have  had  a  glimpse  of  the  inner 
chambers  of  Emerson's  mind,  let  us  study  another 
type  of  thinker,  that  we  may  in  admiration,  and  at 
a  distance,  and  each  in  his  own  sphere,  to  the  best 
of  his  ability,  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  this  master. 
He  is  one  whose  word  carries  weight  wherever  the 
English  language  is  known.  His  name  is  revered 
by  the  studious  of  all  classes  and  of  every  creed ; 
and  it  is  so  because  he  was,  during  the  whole  course 


EMERSON  AND  NEWMAN  AS  TYPES      17 

of  a  long  life,  thoroughly  honest  in  the  expression 
of  his  convictions.  He  did  not  understand  the  art 
of  special  pleading;  he  never  learned  the  trick  of 
covering  up  disagreeable  truths  or  removing  out  of 
sight  a  fact  calculated  to  tell  against  him.  En- 
dowed with  an  intellect  one  of  the  most  acute  ever 
bestowed  upon  man,  and  well  disciplined  by  severe 
study  and  profound  meditation,  it  was  his  delight 
to  grapple  with  difficulties.  That  mind  so  ingen- 
ious and  searching  never  rested  till  it  found  the 
basis  of  an  opinion,  or  struck  the  central  idea  of  a 
system.  It  is  often  a  source  of  wonder  to  me  how 
much  patient,  earnest  thought  its  eminent  posses- 
sor must  have  brought  to  bear  upon  an  idea  before 
he  could  see  it  in  so  many  lights,  view  it  in  such 
different  relations,  and  place  it  before  the  reader 
in  all  the  nakedness  of  truth.  But  this  is  one  of 
the  characteristics  of  great  thinkers,  and  such  pre- 
eminently was  John  Henry,  Cardinal  Newman. 

2.  It  was  in  1877  that  I  first  met  Newman  in 
the  bare,  modest  parlor  of  the  Birmingham  Ora- 
tory, and  I  need  scarcely  add  that  that  meeting  is 
one  of  the  most  precious  incidents  in  my  life.  I 
thought  the  very  simplicity  of  that  parlor  was  in 
keeping  with  the  greatness  of  the  man.  Tinsel,  or 
decoration,  or  an  air  of  worldliness  would  have 
jarred  with  the  simple,  unassuming  ways  of  the 
noble  soul  I  met  there.  He  had  then  lately  re- 
turned from  his  beloved  Oxford,  where  his  Alma 
Mater,  Trinity  College,  did  herself  an  honor  and 
him  an  act  of  tardy  justice  in  inducting  him  as 
Honorary  Fellow.  This  veteran  knight  of  natural 


18     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

and  revealed  truth  looked  old  and  worn ;  his  hair 
was  blanched ;  his  features  were  furrowed  with  the 
traces  of  age.  His  manners  were  gentle  and  con- 
descending. His  voice  was  soft  and  beautiful  in  its 
varied  modulations,  —  now  serious,  now  playful, 
according  to  the  subject  he  spoke  upon.  With  the 
most  exquisite  tact  he  listened  or  placed  his  re- 
mark as  the  case  required.  There  was  a  charm  in 
his  conversation.  As  it  flowed  along  placid  and 
pleasant,  his  countenance  glowed  with  a  nameless 
expression;  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  he  spoke  with 
all  the  strength  and  clearness  of  a  man  whose  intel- 
lectual vigor  is  still  unimpaired.  I  was  not  half 
an  hour  in  his  presence  when  I  felt  the  spell  of  that 
irresistible  personal  influence  which  he  swayed 
through  life,  whether  within  the  walls  of  Oriel,  or 
from  the  Protestant  pulpit  of  St.  Mary's,  or  in  the 
retirement  of  the  Oratory.  I  then  understood  the 
power  that  shook  the  Anglican  Church  to  its  very 
basis  three  and  thirty  years  previously.  In  1889 
I  again  met  this  venerable  leader  of  men ;  within 
him  faintly  flickered  that  brilliant  intellectual  light 
that  had  been  the  beacon  and  the  comfort  of  so 
many  souls  groping  through  the  mists  of  doubt  and 
error.  As  Cardinal  he  was  the  same  cheerful, 
pleasant,  unassuming  man  that  he  had  been  as  plain 
John  Henry  Newman.  Gladly  would  I  limn  for 
the  reader  the  dear,  sweet  face,  so  genial  and  gentle 
and  serene,  that  ever  haunts  me ;  describe  the  voice, 
so  feeble  and  yet  so  soft  and  mellow,  that  continues 
to  reverberate  in  my  ear;  catch  the  genial  gleam 
of  those  eyes  that  I  still  behold  with  their  far-away 


EMERSON  AND  NEWMAN  AS  TYPES      19 

look,  as  though  peering  into  another  world  and 
communing  with  some  invisible  person. 

3.  Though  endowed  with  the  delicate  sensibility  of 
the  poet,  Cardinal  Newman  never  permitted  senti- 
ment or  feeling  or  inclination  or  confirmed  habit  to 
control  or  divert  the  severe  logic  of  his  noble  rea- 
son. See,  for  instance,  the  caution  with  which  he 
took  the  most  important  step  in  his  long  career. 
For  years  inclination  and  grace  and  the  logic  of  his 
mind  had  been  leading  him  into  the  Catholic 
Church,  but  he  makes  no  move  that  is  not  first 
sanctioned  by  reason  and  conscience.1  His  sym- 
pathies have  gone  forth  to  her  long  before  proof  or 
argument  points  out  the  way;  but  he  holds  aloof 
till  reason  becomes  convinced.2  He  even  keeps 
others  for  years  from  entering  her  Communion.3 
And  whilst  writing  a  book  in  favor  of  that  Church 
he  does  not  yet  make  up  his  mind  to  become  a  mem- 
ber ;  he  reserves  to  himself  the  chance  of  changing 
his  views  after  the  whole  argumentative  process 
influencing  him  has  been  placed  before  him  in 
writing.4  In  all  this  he  is  acting  sincerely  and  in 

1  "  I  had  no  right,  I  had  no  leave,  to  act  against  my  conscience." 
Apologia,  2d  ed.  p.  150.     "  All  the  logic  in  the  world  would  not 
have  made  me  move  faster  towards  Rome  than  I  did."      Ibid. 
p.  169. 

2  May  5,  1841,  he  writes :   "  That  my  sympathies  have  grown 
towards  the  religion  of  Rome  I  do  not  deny  ;  that  my  reasons  for 
shunning  her  communion  have  lessened  or  altered  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult perhaps  to  prove.     And  I  wish  to  go  by  reason,  not  by  feel- 
ing."     Rid.  p.  189. 

8  "  I  kept  some  of  them  back  for  several  years  from  being  re- 
ceived into  the  Catholic  Church."  Ibid.  p.  177. 

4  Lastly,  during  the  last  half  of  that  tenth  year  (1844)  I  was 


20     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

good  faith.  Protestants  question  his  honesty; 
Catholics  fear  he  may  be  trifling  with  grace ;  but 
none  the  less  he  waits  and  prays,  and  the  truth 
grows  upon  him  from  the  gray  of  dawn  to  the  full 
light  of  day.  Never  for  a  single  moment  did  he 
falter  through  the  whole  course  of  the  long  and 
painful  struggle ;  from  first  to  last  he  acted  accord- 
ing to  his  lights ;  God  respected  the  earnest  endeavor 
and  blessed  it  and  crowned  it  with  the  grace  of 
conversion.  I  repeat  it,  it  is  this  strict  and  chival- 
ric  adherence  to  truth  at  all  times  and  under  all 
circumstances  that  won  him  the  profound  respect 
and  admiration  of  Christendom.  He  disciplined 
his  mind  into  the  habit  of  seeing  things  as  they  are 
and  of  expressing  them  as  he  saw  them,  till  it  had 
become  an  impossibility  for  him  to  do  otherwise. 

4.  His  is  a  mind  well  worth  our  study.  Its 
logical  acuteness  was  something  marvelous.  Its 
analyzing  power  was  searching  and  exhaustive. 
Its  introspection  seemed  to  be  all-seeing.  He  un- 
derstood so  well  the  checks  and  limitations  of  the 
human  intellect  that  he  was  never  satisfied  to  ac- 
cept an  idea  for  the  reasons  on  its  face.  Like 
Emerson,  he  regarded  verbal  logic  as  a  mere  pro- 
visional scaffolding.  He  went  behind  the  formal 
demonstration  to  what  he  considered  the  far  more 
powerful  motives  of  credibility.  The  syllogism 

engaged  in  writing  a  book  (Essay  on  Development)  in  favor  of  the 
Roman  Church,  and  indirectly  against  the  English  ;  but  even  then, 
till  it  was  finished,  I  had  not  absolutely  intended  to  publish  it, 
wishing  to  reserve  to  myself  the  chance  of  changing  my  mind 
when  the  argumentative  views  which  were  actuating  me  had  been 
distinctly  brought  out  before  me  in  writing."  Ibid.  p.  186. 


EMERSON  AND  NEWMAN  AS  TYPES      21 

says  not  all.  The  real  convincing  and  abiding  rea- 
sons on  which  a  proposition  is  accepted  as  true  are 
beyond  either  the  premises  or  the  conclusion.  "As 
to  Logic,"  he  remarks,  "its  chain  of  conclusions 
hangs  loose  at  both  ends;  both  the  point  from 
which  the  proof  should  start  and  the  points  at 
which  it  should  arrive  are  beyond  its  reach;  it 
comes  short  both  of  first  principles  and  of  concrete 
issues."1  Besides  all  this  there  are  undercurrents 
of  sentiment  and  inclination,  associations  of  ideas, 
obscure  memories,  half  confessed  motives,  proba- 
bilities, popular  impressions  that  determine  the 
frame  of  mind  and  the  tone  of  thought,  and  they 
all  of  them  enter  into  his  calculations.  "And 
such  mainly  is  the  way,"  he  tells  us,  "in  which  all 
men,  gifted  or  not  gifted,  commonly  reason,  —  not 
by  rule,  but  by  an  inward  faculty."2 

5.  Newman  was  not  viewy  as  was  Emerson. 
He  abhorred  vagueness.  He  thought  in  the  con- 
crete. He  lived  in  a  clearly  defined  world  of  his 
own.  He  had  his  own  point  of  view  and  his  own 
charming  manner  of  clothing  a  truth,  but  he  was 
always  careful  to  make  allowance  for  the  personal 
element  that  might  refract  his  vision  or  deflect  his 
inference.  His  advice  to  a  writer  reveals  one  of 
the  secrets  of  that  giant-like  strength  which  he  dis- 
played in  controversy,  and  with  which  he  so  effect- 
ually overwhelmed  his  opponents:  "Be  sure  you 
grasp  fully  any  view  which  you  seek  to  combat, 
and  leave  no  room  for  doubt  about  your  own  mean- 

1  Grammar  of  Assent,  chap.  viii.  §  i. 

2  Oxford  University  Sermons,  xiii.  7,  p.  257,  3d  ed. 


22     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

ing."1  A  mind  recognizing  all  these  elements  of 
thought  and  coordinating  them,  and  giving  each  its 
value  and  position,  is  the  highest  ideal  of  a  well- 
thinking  mind  that  I  can  place  before  the  reader. 
But  I  have  not  yet  said  all. 

6.  Cardinal  Newman's  mind  is  above  all  a  reli- 
gious mind.  Religion  is  for  him  a  reality,  —  an 
intense  reality;  it  is  a  sacred  tunic  clothing  all  his 
thoughts  and  making  them  holy  and  earnest ;  it  is 
an  essential  part  of  his  existence ;  it  is  the  life  of 
his  life.  And  this  is  not  simply  the  religion  of 
sentiment  or  of  the  mere  viewiness  of  doctrine  and 
dogma,  but  religion  based  upon  clear-cut  doctrines 
and  well-defined  principles.  At  the  age  of  fifteen 
we  find  him  resting  "  in  the  thought  of  two  and  two 
only  supreme  and  luminously  self -evident  beings," 
himself  and  his  Creator.2  From  that  age,  he  tells 
us  in  one  of  those  revelations  of  himself  that  light 
up  his  soul  and  show  the  man,  "  dogma  has  been 
the  fundamental  principle  of  my  religion :  I  know 
no  other  religion;  I  cannot  enter  into  the  idea 
of  any  other  sort  of  religion ;  religion,  as  a  mere 
sentiment,  is  to  me  a  dream  and  a  mockery.  As 
well  can  there  be  filial  love  without  the  fact  of 
a  father,  as  devotion  without  the  fact  of  a  Supreme 
Being."3  Here  is  the  central  thought  of  Cardinal 
Newman's  intellect.  All  thoughts,  all  issues  group 
around  that  one  idea.  Every  sermon,  every  essay, 

1  Letter  to  W.  S.  Lilly,  Fortnightly  Beview,  September,  1890. 

2  Apologia,  p.  49,  ed.  1882.    London:    Longmans,  Green,  Reader 
&  Dyer. 

8  Ibid.  p.  96. 


EMERSON  AND  NEWMAN  AS  TYPES      23 

every  treatise  of  the  eight  and  thirty  volumes 
penned  by  his  hand,  reveals  a  soul  ever  questioning, 
ever  struggling  with  difficulties,  ever  solving  to  it- 
self the  problems  and  issues  of  the  day,  ever  arran- 
ging and  rearranging  in  clear,  well-defined  order  its 
own  views  and  opinions;  and  all  for  one  object 
and  with  one  result,  that  of  harmonizing  them  with 
the  teachings  of  religion.  The  thoughts  and  ques- 
tionings and  theories  against  which  other  strong 
and  well-equipped  intellects  struggled  only  to  be 
made  captives  of  irreligion  and  agnosticism,  he 
also  wrestled  with  and  became  their  master,  each 
new  effort  giving  him  additional  strength;  and 
finally,  his  laurels  won,  and  looking  out  upon  the 
intellectual  struggles  of  the  day  with  the  repose  of 
a  warrior  who  had  been  in  the  fight  and  had  come 
out  of  it  a  victor,  he  passed  away  in  his  ninetieth 
year,  enshrined  in  a  halo  of  veneration.1 

1  The  student  desirous  of  understanding  the  philosophical  phase 
of  Newman's  mind  and  method  should  read  the  following  works  in 
this  order :  1.  Apologia.  2.  Oxford  University  Sermons.  3.  Doc- 
trinal Developments.  4.  Grammar  of  Assent.  This  book  restates 
and  coordinates  on  a  more  scientific  basis  the  principles  discussed 
in  the  University  Sermons.  5.  Idea  of  a  University. 

The  spiritual  phase  of  his  mind  may  be  traced  in  his  Parochial 
and  Plain  Sermons,  and  his  Sermons  to  Mixed  Congregations. 

The  purely  literary  phase  of  his  mind  is  best  illustrated  in  his 
Present  Position  of  Catholics  in  England,  Loss  and  Gain,  Callista, 
and  The  Dream  of  Gerontins. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  PRINCIPLE   OF  THOUGHT. 


1.  FROM  these  types  of  thinking  let  us  return  to 
thought  itself,  and  note  the  higher  principle  of  its 
existence.  Not  content  with  enjoying  the  light  of 
day,  let  us  look  to  the  sun  whence  emanates  that 
light.  From  thinking  we  pass  to  the  principle  of 
all  thinking  and  all  knowing.  Truth  is  of  the 
mind.  It  is  the  equation  between  the  intellect  and 
its  object.  The  three  elements  of  every  proposi- 
tion—  of  every  truth  apprehended  —  are  subject, 
object,  and  their  relation.  Now,  that  which  we 
apprehend  as  truth  is  truth  not  because  we  appre- 
hend it  as  such,  but  because  it  exists  as  such  in  the 
light  of  the  Unchanging  Truth  that  is  independent 
of  all  modes  of  apprehension.  Without  that  light 
our  intellectual  vision  were  as  darkened  as  our  bod- 
ily eyes  without  the  light  of  the  sun.  This  is  the 
teaching  of  great  thinkers  and  great  saints.  In 
this  simple  manner  does  St.  Augustine  express  him- 
self :  "  If  what  you  say  is  seen  to  be  true  by  both 
of  us,  and  what  I  say  is  seen  to  be  true  by  both  of 
us,  where,  I  would  ask,  do  we  see  it?  Assuredly, 
neither  you  see  it  in  me  nor  I  in  you ;  but  we  both 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THOUGHT  25 

see  it  in  that  unchanging  truth  which  is  above  our 
minds."1  "But,"  adds  another  great  Doctor  of 
the  Church,  the  angelic  Thomas  of  Aquin,  "un- 
changing truth  is  contained  in  the  eternal  reasons 
of  things,  and  therefore  our  soul  knows  all  things 
as  true  in  those  reasons."2  The  intellectual  light 
by  which  our  mind  apprehends  and  pronounces 
upon  truth  —  that  which  makes  it  evident  to  us 
that  two  and  two  make  four,  or  that  it  is  impossible 
for  a  thing  to  be  and  not  be  at  the  same  time,  or 
that  every  effect  has  a  cause,  —  that  light  is  in  some 
sense  a  participation  in  the  Uncreated  Light  that 
contains  in  itself  the  eternal  principles  of  things 
and  the  eternal  reasons  for  all  actual  and  possible 
truths  and  existences.  Here  we  have  the  true 
source  both  of  the  knowledge  we  possess  and  the 
intellects  by  which  we  know.  The  human  intellect 
so  illumined  is  the  principle  of  thought.  Such  an 
aspect  of  our  thinking  brings  us  nearer  to  God. 
The  light  of  his  Divine  countenance  is  stamped 
upon  us.3  It  guides  our  reason;  it  strengthens  our 
understanding ;  it  illumines  our  thoughts ;  it  places 
its  impress  on  all  that  is  true,  all  that  is  good,  and 
all  that  is  beautiful.4 

1  Confess,  lib.  xii.  cap.  xxv.  §  35. 

2  Summa.     Pars  prima.     Qusest.  Ixxxiv.  art.  v. 

8  Signatnm  est  super  nos  lumen  vultus  tui,  Domine.   Psalm  iv.  6. 

4  Per  ipsani  sigillationem  divini  luminis  in  nobis  omnia  demon- 
strantur.  Summa,  loc.  cit.  Whilst  the  light  as  from  God  is  un- 
created, St.  Thomas  holds  that  as  received  by  the  human  intel- 
lect it  is  participated  in  in  a  finite  mode,  and  therefore  as  it  exists 
in  the  soul  it  is  a  created  light.  He  holds  this  as  against  the 
theory  of  the  intellects  agens  of  Averrocs.  See  his  De  Unitate 
Intdlectus  contra  Averroistas. 


26     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

2.  From  this  elevated  point  of  view  one  can 
more  easily  perceive  the  true  relations  of  all  know- 
ledge, be  it  in  the  natural  or  in  the  supernatural 
order.  Utterly  groundless  is  the  position  of  the 
agnostic  who  rejects  as  impossible  a  divine  reve- 
lation. Since  the  very  light  of  our  natural  reason 
—  that  primary  condition  of  all  knowledge  and  all 
certainty  —  comes  from  God,  why  may  not  the 
same  all-powerful  Author,  if  it  so  pleases  his  infi- 
nite wisdom,  communicate  other  truths  of  an  order 
beyond  the  reach  of  human  discovery?  Such  a 
communication  were  only  an  additional  ray  from 
the  same  inexhaustible  source.  The  light  of  that 
ray  may  be  more  dazzling,  its  warmth  more  burn- 
ing, its  energy  more  vitalizing,  but  it  is  still  a  ray 
from  the  same  Divine  Light  that  illumines  this 
world.  And  could  our  weak  intellectual  vision  only 
bear  its  full  brilliancy  we  would  recognize  it  as  of 
a  piece  with  other  rays  less  brilliant.  For  in  that 
Divine  Essence  whence  all  truths  emanate,  there 
are  no  broken  aspects  of  things,  no  wastes  of  know- 
ledge, no  doubt  or  darkness,  no  opposition  or  con- 
tradiction of  views,  nothing  of  all  that  belongs  to 
our  feeble  and  limited  intelligence;  but  all  those 
truths  that  we  apprehend  in  a  partial  sense,  and 
under  various  aesthetic,  literary,  and  scientific  as- 
pects, are  therein  harmonized  into  a  single  whole. 


II. 

1.  Taking  our  stand  here  we  shall  also  be  in  a 
better  position  to  judge  of  the  intellectual  and  so- 


THE  PRINCIPLE   OF  THOUGHT  27 

cial  deviations  from  old  lines  of  thought  and  action. 
The  flood  of  light  that  a  new  theory,  or  a  new  idea, 
or  an  additional  aspect  of  an  old  truth,  throws 
upon  us  is  for  the  moment  too  much  for  us. 
We  are  bedimmed  with  its  splendor.  We  have 
therefore  "to  grope  in  the  dark  as  though  there  were 
no  light.  Men  are  slow  to  conceive  an  idea ;  slower 
still  to  grasp  its  whole  import.  It  takes  many 
minds  and  a  long  period  of  time  to  mature  a 
thought.  In  consequence,  what  we  regard  as  de- 
viations, when  the  thing  is  not  evidently  false,  may 
be  really  the  shortest  route  to  the  whole  truth.  No 
man  knows  where  the  error  ends  and  at  what  point 
the  truth  begins  in  any  of  the  doubtful  issues  that 
agitate  the  world.  All  we  may  be  certain  of  is 
that  the  truth  shall  finally  prevail.  It  remains  for 
us  but  to  wait  and  hold  firmly  by  the  old  moor- 
ings till  the  atmosphere  clears  and  we  see  our  way. 
The  truth  suffers  most  from  those  over-zealous  de- 
fenders whose  zeal  is  not  according  to  knowledge  ; 
who  are  guided  more  by  their  prejudices  than  by 
any  enlightened  views ;  who  beat  the  air  with  wild 
and  whirling  words  ;  whose  acquaintance  with  the 
new  is  fragmentary  and  at  second-hand ;  who  con- 
sider a  training  in  one  branch  of  science  or  letters 
sufficient  preparation  to  cope  with  athletes  in  every 
other  branch;  finally,  who  enter  the  arena  pos- 
sessed of  no  other  weapons  than  dogmatism  and  pre- 
sumption. These  men  mislead  the  weak-minded ; 
they  bring  confusion  into  the  ranks ;  they  impede 
the  action  of  competent  thinkers  and  shut  them 
out  from  achieving  good;  they  set  up  difficulties  of 


28     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

their  own  making,  and  knock  down  objections  no 
living  opponent  of  faith  and  revelation  ever  dreamed 
of  putting  forth.  These  are  the  friends  from  whom 
truth  may  well  pray  to  be  delivered. 

2.  Nor  is  there  much  to  be  feared  from  the  at- 
tacks —  even  those  of  them  made  in  good  faith  — 
upon  revealed  religion.  The  opponents  the  most 
competent  have  as  a  rule  overlooked  some  essential 
element  in  their  calculations;  or  they  have  been 
overhasty  in  drawing  their  conclusions;  or  they 
have  misread  the  document;  or  they  have  made  an 
erroneous  assumption  in  their  premises.  Careful 
study  and  research  will  set  the  matter  right.  Less 
sincere  opponents  are  too  prone  to  talk  about  mat- 
ters whereof  they  know  nothing  to  injure  any  but 
the  fickle  and  the  superficial.  The  accurate  thinker 
makes  due  allowance  for  all  such  shortcomings. 
By  patient  self-possession  of  one's  soul  may  one 
escape  being  carried  away  by  the  cant  of  the  hour 
or  the  intellectual  fashion  of  the  day.  Because  a 
theory  is  popular,  it  does  not  follow  that  it  is  also 
true.  Disease  is  catching,  not  health.  And  so 
too  may  error  gain  proselytes  faster  than  truth. 
Moreover,  the  very  newness  of  a  new  theory  or  a 
new  doctrine  tends  to  its  exaggeration.  It  stands 
out  in  undue  prominence.  It  compels  a  readjust- 
ment of  our  previous  knowledge.  We  see  not  at 
first  sight  its  right  relations  with  other  subjects; 
we  grasp  only  part  of  the  truth,  or  we  overesti- 
mate its  impoj*tance,  or  we  fall  short  of  its  true 
position  in  our  calculations,  and  all  this  misleads 
us  in  our  reasonings  upon  it.  But  be  it  remem- 


THE  PRINCIPLE   OF  THOUGHT  29 

bered  that  this  mental  confusion  is  only  a  passing 
phase. 

3.  The  present  generation  may  not  apprehend 
the  real  import  of  a  new  doctrine  or  a  new  theory ; 
at  most  only  a  few  of  the  master-minds  rightly 
measure  its  entire  course ;  but  those  coming  after 
us,  being  born  into  the  new  light,  shall  have  become 
accustomed  to  it,  and  shall  have  learned  to  place 
the  truth  on  its  proper  basis  and  in  its  most  telling 
position.  The  age  devours  all  manner  of  know- 
ledge with  equal  avidity,  be  the  knowledge  whole- 
some or  be  the  knowledge  poisonous.  Some  it  di- 
gests and  assimilates  into  the  blood  and  bone  and 
muscle  of  its  thoughts;  some  it  rejects;  some  again 
of  a  poisonous  character  throws  it  into  fevers  and 
excitements  and  produces  blotches  and  plague- 
spots.  But  it  is  only  the  truth  that  is  life-giving 
and  strengthening.  All  else  is  imbued  with  the 
seeds  of  death  and  destruction.  The  truth  alone 
survives. 


III. 

1.  As  all  the  years  of  a  person's  life  are  wrought 
into  the  formation  of  his  nature  and  character,  so 
does  it  take  all  the  past  centuries  of  a  people's 
existence  to  make  it  that  which  it  is  at  present. 
And  the  characteristic  spirit  of  a  people  gives 
tone  and  color  to  the  spirit  of  each  individual  of 
that  people.  This  remark  leads  us  to  some  very 
sugestive  reflections.  We  all  of  us  are  the  out- 
come of  past  influences.  Generations  have  lived 


30     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

and  thought  and  acted  that  each  of  us  might  be 
what  he  is.  Were  any  link  in  the  chain  of  heredity 
lacking  we  would  be  different  in  aptitude,  in  capa- 
city, in  very  form  and  appearance.  The  absence  of 
some  faculty,  the  feebleness  of  some  disposition  in 
some  one  or  other  of  our  ancestors  were  sufficient 
to  vary  the  results  in  the  person  of  each  of  us.  Na- 
ture acts  with  persistence;  slowly,  it  is  true,  but 
with  the  sureness  of  fate.  She  never  breaks  the 
mould.  Types  are  produced  and  apparently  van- 
ish, perhaps  for  ages;  but  they  are  not  lost;  all  at 
once,  when  least  expected,  they  replace  their  im- 
press on  countenance  and  character  and  help  to 
shape  the  course  of  life  and  action.  Every  gener- 
ation weakens  or  strengthens  some  one  point  or 
other  in  character  or  disposition,  in  tone  or  temper- 
ament, in  intellect  or  soul.  Each  individual  has 
his  personality  stamped  with  the  weight  and  per- 
sistent force  of  his  ancestry.  This  is  an  ele- 
mentary truth;  we  cannot  ignore  it,  and  it  is  wis- 
dom to  recognize  and  accept  its  inevitableness,  and 
shape  our  lives  so  as  to  strengthen  in  ourselves  the 
sources  of  our  strength  and  weaken  whatever  con- 
tains an  element  of  social  or  personal  disorganiza- 
tion. As  it  took  long  periods  of  heat  and  of 
glacial  action,  of  attrition  and  denudation,  of  sink- 
ing and  rising  of  the  earth's  surface,  and  conse- 
quent changes  of  plant  and  animal  life  in  order  to 
prepare  this  world  for  man's  habitation,  so  is  it 
in  the  throes  of  ages  that  the  hereditary  tendencies 
of  the  present  generation  have  had  their  birth.1 

1  A  friend  suggests  that  these  remarks  savor  of  Evolutionism. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THOUGHT  31 

2.  What  we  say  of  man's  organic  growth  and 
development  applies  with  no  less  force  to  the  for- 
mation of  his  thought.  Around  him  and  within 
him,  in  the  very  air  he  breathes,  is  the  wisdom  of 
all  past  ages  and  civilizations.  No  thought  is  iso- 
lated. It  has  sprung  from  some  previous  seed ;  it 
has  fed  upon  other  prior  thoughts ;  at  their  expense 
has  it  been  nourished  and  has  it  waxed  strong. 
We  think  as  we  do  now,  because  past  generations 
thought  as  they  did  in  their  day ;  because  Greece 
thought  as  she  did,  because  Rome  thought  as  she 
did,  and  because  Greece  and  Rome  have  been  our 
educators  and  the  educators  of  Europe  for  the  past 
twenty  centuries.  Truths  and  expressions  that 
were  then  new  and  startling  have  since  become  com- 
monplace. That  which  was  the  exclusive  property 
of  a  thoughtful  few  has  with  time  filtered  into  the 
general  intelligence. 

3.  Another  source  of  our  ideas  is  that  which  re- 
sults from  the  transmitted  experiences  of  past  gen- 
erations. One  may  hear  from  men  who  have  never 

It  is  a  question  of  truth  and  not  of  names.  Now  every  theory  that 
has  ever  laid  hold  of  the  brain  of  man  has  done  so  by  reason  of 
some  truth  contained  in  it.  And  Evolutionism  is  no  exception. 
How  much  or  how  little  is  its  share  of  truth  neither  we  nor  its 
advocates  are  in  position  to  define.  However,  it  so  happens  that 
this  is  one  of  the  very  doctrines  the  Evolutionists  have  ignored.  Mr. 
Frederick  Harrison  thus  berates  them  for  it:  "  Even  the  philoso- 
phers of  Evolution  consistently  forget  that  the  generation  of  men 
to  be  are  being  daily  evolved  out  of  the  whole  of  the  generations 
that  have  been.  Evolutionists  are  the  readiest  of  all  to  tear  up 
whole  regions  of  human  history  as  waste  paper,  or  to  discharge  the 
product  of  vast  ages  of  man  into  the  deep,  as  some  dangerous 
excrement  of  the  race."  Nineteenth  Century,  November,  1880. 


32     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

learned  how  to  read  or  write  the  wisest  and  best 
sayings  in  one's  Horace.  The  experiences  of  life 
and  the  workings  of  the  human  heart  are  confined 
to  no  privileged  order  of  men.  Every  people  has 
its'  proverbs  embodying  the  lessons  that  time  and 
men's  failings  and  successes  alike  have  handed 
down.  The  fables  attributed  to  ^Esop  were  the  de- 
light of  youth  and  of  old  age  in  Greece;  trans- 
planted by  Phaedrus,  they  took  firm  root  in  Rome ; 
recast  into  inimitable  verse  by  Lafontaine,  they 
became  classic  thought  in  France;  but  prior  to 
Lafontaine,  or  Phsedrus,  or  JEsop  they  had  been  the 
daily  lessons  of  children  on  the  banks  of  the  Gan- 
ges. They  crystallized  in  a  convenient  and  attrac- 
tive form  the  worldly  wisdom  and  the  common 
experiences  of  mankind;  long  before  they  were 
inscribed  in  books  they  had  been  the  joint  inherit- 
ance of  a  faithful  and  tenacious  traditionary  know- 
ledge. 

4.  Since,  then,  the  past  has  contributed  so  largely 
to  make  us  what  we  are  —  since  it  supplies  the  very 
atmosphere  of  our  thinking  and  the  conditions 
under  which  our  brain  works  —  it  behooves  each 
and  all  of  us  to  think  and  read  in  a  temper  and 
mood  in  keeping  with  the  great  thinkers  of  former 
times.  It  is  by  a  wise,  discriminating  use  of  past 
thought  in  connection  with  the  present  that  we  may 
hope  to  secure  definite  and  profitable  results  in  our 
thinking.  This  is  the  legitimate  function  of  books. 
Only  in  so  far  as  they  supply  food  for  our  mental 
activity  do  they  avail.  And  for  this  reason  they 
are  not  to  be  overestimated,  nor  is  the  worth  of  a 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THOUGHT  33 

man's  opinions  to  be  measured  by  the  number  of 
volumes  that  he  has  read.  Nor  should  we  be  too 
hasty  to  despise  the  views  of  men  limited  in  their  ac- 
quaintance with  books.  It  is  the  besetting  mistake 
of  students.  To  them  I  would  say :  You  will  find 
in  the  world  men  who  have  not  had  your  oppor- 
tunities for  book-knowledge ;  men  who  have  passed 
through  life  with  open  eyes  and  wide-awake  minds ; 
who  have  read  long  and  diligently  in  the  great  book 
of  Nature,  be  it  that  of  man  or  that  of  plant  and 
animal,  and  who  have  drawn  therefrom  lessons  of 
wisdom  and  usefulness;  you  will  find  these  men 
sound  in  their  judgments  on  every  topic  within  the 
sphere  of  their  experience;  you  will  find  their 
views  of  actions  and  events  clear,  just,  enlightened ; 
still  you  may  be  inclined  to  make  but  slight  esti- 
mate of  their  attainments  because  they  cannot 
back  up  their  opinions  by  quotation  from  some  one 
or  other  of  your  favorite  authors.  This  were  a 
serious  blunder  which  the  experience  of  advancing 
years  and  a  like  knowledge  of  the  world  will  enable 
you  to  correct.  Your  proper  and  most  profitable 
course  would  be  to  modify,  strengthen,  improve 
your  crude  theories  by  their  practical  knowledge. 
What  need  of  their  knowing  that  this  man  or 
that  wrote  the  same  thought  that  they  thoroughly 
realize.  You  tell  them  that  you  read  their  opinion 
in  such  and  such  a  classic,  and  they  may  well  reply 
in  the  words  of  La  Bruyere :  "  I  believe  it  on  your 
word ;  but  I  have  given  the  opinion  as  my  own. 
May  I  not  think  a  true  thing  in  my  own  way,  after 
these  great  authors  have  thought  it  in  theirs,  and 


34     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

since  others  shall  still  think  it  after  I  have  passed  ?  " 1 
Much  has  been  written  of  late  years  with  the  view 
of  determining  the  extent  of  Shakespeare's  learn- 
ing. I  would  ask,  to  what  purpose  ?  Does  it  not 
suffice  to  know  that  Shakespeare's  own  mind  was 
fertile  enough  to  conceive,  capacious  enough  to 
contain,  creative  enough  to  originate  and  send 
forth,  fresh  and  vigorous  in  the  full  bloom  and 
maturity  of  exquisite  expression,  all  the  great 
thoughts  arising  from  the  hearts  of  all  the  great 
poets  of  all  times  ?  In  the  presence  of  such  a  wealth 
of  genius  books  and  authorities  go  for  very  little ; 
not  that  they  are  to  be  despised;  nor  did  Shake- 
speare despise  his  Plutarch  and  his  Holinshed,  his 
Grower,  his  Florio's  Montaigne,  and  his  Chapman's 
Homer ;  but  they  were  in  his  hands  simply  the  dead 
men's  bones  over  which  the  spirit  of  his  genius 
moved,  and  forthwith  the  bones  knit  together,  and 
flesh  grew  upon  them,  and  he  breathed  into  them 
a  soul,  and  they  stood  erect  living  creations,  dis- 
tinct personalities,  each  with  a  will  and  a  destiny, 
and  the  responsibility  of  his  deeds  pressing  upon 
him  and  stamping  his  character  forever.  In  a  like 
spirit  should  we  all  of  us  learn  the  use  of  books. 
They  are  aids  only  inasmuch  as  they  help  our 
thinking. 

IV. 

1.  Right  thinking  is  a  habit;  it  is  therefore  to 
be  acquired  by  practice.     One  may  say  here  and 

1  Les  Caracteres,  t.  i.  p.  118. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THOUGHT  35 

now  :  "  I  will  begin  from  this  hour  to  think  cor- 
rectly," but  it  does  not  follow  that  forthwith  one 
will  become  a  profound  thinker.  There  remains  to 
consider  the  ways  and  means  by  which  to  arrive 
at  this  habit ;  one  must  look  to  the  lets  and  hin- 
drances that  beset  one's  course;  then  by  slow,  pa- 
tient, and  earnest  effort  one  may  finally  succeed  in 
controlling  one's  intellect.  Every  thought  has  its 
cause ;  every  action,  its  motive ;  every  conclusion, 
its  premise.  Therefore,  the  essence  of  right  think- 
ing is  this :  that  he  who  so  thinks  is  not  content 
with  the  last  word  of  a  chain  of  thought ;  he  exam- 
ines the  process  by  which  that  chain  has  been  con- 
structed ;  he  determines  the  value  of  the  principles 
from  which  the  chain  starts ;  he  regards  the  thought 
in  all  its  bearings  and  defines  its  true  position  in 
the  nature  of  things. 

2.  Again,  that  is  the  most  efficient  and  best 
trained  thinking  which  is  the  most  continuous. 
But  continuous  trains  of  thought  are  possible  only 
with  an  economizing  of  brain  power.  Anything 
tending  to  weaken  that  power,  or  to  scatter  it  over 
a  large  field  of  observation,  is  a  hindrance  to 
sound  thinking.  In  this  category  is  to  be  ranked 
all  reading  in  which  fancy  or  curiosity  is  allowed 
to  run  away  with  reason  and  understanding.  It 
were  as  easy  for  a  man  to  be  successful  in  life  by 
a  constant  change  of  occupation,  as  for  one  with 
no  control  over  his  mind  to  become  a  profound 
thinker.  I  would  not  be  understood  as  discoura- 
ging the  reading  of  works  purely  imaginative.  They 
have  their  use.  I  touch  on  such  works  simply  to 


36     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

caution  against  their  abuse.  To  profit  by  them  one 
should  bring  to  their  perusal  a  well-defined  stand- 
ard of  excellence,  a  cultivated  taste  that  clearly  dis- 
criminates between  a  novel  or  poem  of  real  merit 
and  the  trashy  works  that  now  glut  the  book-mar- 
ket, and  a  decided  and  firm  resolve  to  waste  neither 
time  nor  talent  upon  reading  that  is  useless  or  in- 
jurious. The  man  or  boy  that  allows  novel-read- 
ing—  or  in  fact  aimless  reading  of  any  descrip- 
tion —  to  become  a  passion  with  him,  thereby  saps 
his  mental,  his  moral,  and  his  physical  energy  as 
surely  as  the  opium-eater  destroys  this  threefold 
energy  by  the  inordinate  use  of  opium,  or  the 
drunkard  by  excessive  drink. 

3.  Another  bane  of  solid  and  fruitful  thought  is 
reverie.  It  consists  chiefly  in  a  loss  of  control  over 
the  mind  and  the  affections  and  a  total  abandon- 
ment of  the  soul  to  revel  and  become  merged  in 
Nature.  It  is  the  passion  of  delicate,  sensitive,  and 
sentimental  young  men  and  women.  There  is  for 
such  souls  a  yearning  to  commune  with  Nature 
and  lose  themselves  in  a  vague  sentiment.  Victor 
Hugo  interprets  this  feeling  when  he  tells  us  that 
in  the  solitude  of  the  woods  he  feels  the  presence  of 
a  Great  Being  who  listens  to  him  and  loves  him  — 

"  Je  sens  quelqu'un  de  grand  qui  m'^coute  et  qui  m'aime."  l 

Indeed,  one  of  the  most  clearly  uttered  messages 
that  Nature  gives  to  man  is  that  there  is  a  Some- 
thing beyond  the  tangible  and  the  visible.  It 
is  a  message  to  which  every  sensitive  heart  re- 

1  Contemplations,  liv.  iii.  24. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THOUGHT  37 

spends.  "There  is  in  man, "says  Chateaubriand,' 
"an  instinctive  melancholy,  which  makes  him  har- 
monize with  the  scenery  of  Nature.'*  And  the  same 
author  speaks  of  "the  immensity  of  the  seas,  which 
seems  to  give  an  indistinct  measure  of  the  great- 
ness of  our  souls,  and  which  excites  a  vague  desire 
to  quit  this  life,  that  we  may  embrace  all  Nature 
and  become  united  with  its  Author."1  The  bond 
of  sympathy  between  man  and  Nature,  when  prop- 
erly regulated,  is  strong  and  wholesome.  There  is 
a  soothing  effect  in  the  placid  lake.  A  troubled 
heart  becomes  calm  in  the  serene  presence  of 
mountain  scenery.  The  eternal  peace  of  which 
every  snow-clad  summit  speaks  enters  and  possesses 
the  soul  and  lifts  it  above  the  worries  and  annoy- 
ances of  every-day  life.  Such  communion  is  bene- 
ficial. But  the  reverie  in  which  the  soul  becomes 
diffused  through  Nature  and  lost  in  a  weak  senti- 
ment, however  refined  it  be,  is  still  sensual  and 
therefore  demoralizing  to  the  soul  and  disintegrat- 
ing of  all  robustness  of  faculties.  The  faculties  of 
the  soul  should,  in  all  their  functions,  operate  ac- 
cording to  their  nature  and  in  their  proper  order. 
In  reverie  that  order  is  broken.  The  reason,  which 
should  always  remain  supreme  and  always  govern, 
becomes  dethroned  and  merged  in  the  imagination. 
Intellectual  disorder  leads  to  many  other  disor- 
ders in  the  moral  and  spiritual  worlds.  By  all 
means  let  us  commune  with  Nature  and  learn 
the  lessons  she  would  teach  us,  always  bearing  in 
mind  that  God  is  her  Author  and  ours,  that  He 

1  Genie  du  Christianisme,  p.  ii.  liv.  iv.  chap.  i. 


38     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

is  ever  present  in  the  material  universe,  acting  in  it 
with  a  preservative  and  a  cooperative  act ;  acting 
in  it  most  intimately,  but  distinct  from  it ;  acting 
behind  the  ultimate  atom  of  material  substance,  be- 
neath the  primal  energy  of  material  force ;  acting 
always  and  containing  in  Himself  as  Archetype,  in 
all  their  fitness  and  beauty  of  perfection,  the  ideals 
of  all  good  and  beautiful  things  in  this  world.  In 
this  manner  shall  we  avoid  the  evils  of  reverie. 

4.  No  less  pernicious  and  equally  to  be  avoided 
is  the  opposite  extreme  of  being  too  introspective. 
There  is  such  an  evil  as  thinking  too  much  about 
one's  thinking.  It  is  a  morbid  disposition.  It 
impedes  all  serious  thought  and  all  earnest  action. 
That  is  pure  dilettanteism  which  amuses  itself  with 
itself  in  its  workings.  To  meddle  with  the  springs 
of  thought  whilst  thinking  is  like  interfering  with 
the  process  of  digestion  whilst  eating,  or  measuring 
the  strain  and  waste  of  nerve  and  muscle  whilst 
acting.  Earnest  work  is  unconscious  work ;  so  is 
earnest  thinking  unconscious  thinking.  This  will 
be  all  the  more  evident  when  we  shall  have  pursued 
the  subject  of  thought  as  a  habit  upon  the  fields  of 
literature  and  of  science. 


CHAPTER   V. 

LITERAEY   AND    SCIENTIFIC   HABITS   OF    THOUGHT. 


1.  THERE  is  a  wide  difference  between  the  habits 
of  thought  engendered  by  literary  pursuits  and  those 
begotten  of  scientific  studies.  The  difference  is 
as  marked  as  are  the  diverse  objects  of  thought. 
Literature  we  know  to  be  personal  in  its  nature,  in 
its  method,  and  to  a  great  extent  in  its  object. 
Science  is  impersonal,  both  in  its  subject-matter 
and  in  its  treatment.  Literature  deals  with  per- 
sons and  things  so  far  as  they  affect  our  humanity ; 
every  piece  of  written  composition  that  appeals  to 
the  emotional  element  in  our  nature  may  be  re- 
garded as  literature.  Science  deals  with  persons 
and  things  as  they  are  in  themselves,  or  in  coor- 
dinated relations.  It  examines,  investigates,  dis- 
cusses from  an  impersonal  point  of  view;  utterly 
regardless  of  individual  bias,  it  gropes  its  way 
through  the  entanglements  and  environments  of  a 
subject-matter,  and  cautiously  passes  from  the 
known  to  the  unknown.  Science,  in  a  word,  is 
concerned  with  the  true  as  true.  Its  object  is 
truth.  Literature,  on  the  other  hand,  ranges  over 
a  wider  field.  It  may  be  personal  or  impersonal, 
subjective  or  objective,  as  best  suits  its  inclina- 


40     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

tion.  It  accepts  the  true  and  the  false,  the  good 
and  the  evil,  the  beautiful  and  the  deformed,  and 
moulds  them  all  to  its  own  purposes,  ultimately 
with  the  view  of  acting  upon  man's  feelings,  — now 
arousing  his  curiosity,  now  exciting  his  wonder  and 
admiration,  again  working  upon  his  sympathies  and 
stirring  his  soul.  Its  object  is  the  ideal  of  all  that 
is  sublime  and  beautiful  in  nature. 

2.  Entering  the  interior  of  the  thinking-subject, 
we  may  note  the  process  the  mind  goes  through  in 
developing  a  definite  course  of  thought  upon  some 
object.  Is  the  object  one  of  a  scientific  nature? 
See  how  cautiously  the  mind  proceeds.  It  lays 
down  its  postulates;  if  runs  over  the  principles 
that  it  holds  within  its  grasp ;  it  casts  about  among 
the  laws  and  facts  already  demonstrated  and  rec- 
ognized as  certain;  these  it  groups  together  into 
classes  and  sub-classes ;  it  compares  them  with  one 
another;  it  considers  their  various  properties;  it 
views  the  modes  and  properties  and  behavior  of 
other  facts,  or  groups  of  facts,  in  the  light  of  those 
well-known  and  well-understood ;  it  applies  to  them 
its  demonstrated  formula,  and  draws  its  conclu- 
sions. Throughout  this  process  the  scientific  mind 
remains  unimpassioned,  and  regards  persons  and 
things  as  labeled  abstractions,  rather  than  as  con- 
crete realities.  It  works  within  narrow  and  closely 
defined  lines.  It  grows  impatient  of  all  that  does 
not  bear  upon  the  question  under  consideration,  and 
rejects  it  as  a  distraction.  The  habit  of  mind  thus 
developed  is  rigid  and  exclusive,  and  unfits  its 
possessor  for  grasping  and  treating  with  facility 


HABITS  OF  THOUGHT  41 

other  subjects  than  those  upon  which  it  has  had 
life-long  practice.1  It  lacks  in  extension  what  it 
gains  in  comprehension. 

3.  Is  the  object  of  thought  one  of  a  literary  na- 
ture ?  Here  the  mind  follows  a  process  the  reverse 
of  that  employed  in  a  scientific  pursuit.  Its  first 
effort  is  to  grasp  the  conclusions  and  work  back- 
ward to  the  starting  principles.  Nothing  comes 
amiss  to  it.  The  thought  apparently  farthest  re- 
moved from  the  main  idea  may  throw  upon  it  ad- 
ditional light.  All  that  science,  or  art,  or  Nature 
can  contribute,  the  literary  mind  makes  its  own, 
not  for  the  sake  of  science,  or  art,  or  Nature,  nor 
by  way  of  determining  some  unknown  truth,  nor  of 
reaching  some  scientific  discovery,  but  as  so  many 
illustrations  drawing  out,  exemplifying,  clearing 
up  more  vividly  the  ideal  which  it  has  grasped,  and 
which  it  labors  to  express.  To  every  literary 
mind  may  be  made,  and  made  as  little  to  the  pur- 
pose, the  reproach  that  the  sophist  Callicles  ad- 
dressed to  Socrates :  "  By  the  gods,  you  never  stop 
talking  about  shoemakers,  fullers,  cooks,  and  phy- 

1  There  is  a  striking  confirmation  of  the  above  remarks  in  the 
experience  of  Professor  Tyndall.  Speaking  of  his  student-life  in 
Germany,  about  the  year  1851,  he  thus  describes  the  state  of  his 
mind:  "In  those  days  I  not  unfrequently  found  it  necessary  to 
subject  myself  to  a  process  which  I  called  depolarization.  My 
brain,  intent  on  its  subjects,  used  to  acquire  a  set  resembling  the 
rigid  polarity  of  a  steel  magnet.  It  lost  the  pliancy  needful  for 
free  conversation,  and  to  recover  this  I  used  to  walk  occasionally 
to  Charlottenburg,  or  elsewhere.  From  my  experiences  at  that 
time  I  derived  the  notion  that  hard-thinking  and  fleet-talking  do 
not  run  together."  —  "My  Schools  and  Schoolmasters,"  in  the 
Poptdar  Science  Monthly  for  January,  1885. 


42     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

sicians,  as  though  our  discourse  were  of  these."1 
All  such  illustrations  are  the  material  out  of  which 
the  literary  mind  constructs  a  body  for  its  concep- 
tion. Literature  is  an  art,  and  the  process  of  liter- 
ature is  the  process  of  all  art.  Note  that  process. 
The  soul  conceives  a  thought.  The  thought  grows 
into  a  central  idea,  around  which  group  other  sub- 
ordinate ones.  It  becomes  for  the  soul  an  ideal. 
That  ideal  is  nourished  by  reading,  or  reflection, 
or  study,  or  experience,  or  all  of  these  combined, 
and  quickens  into  life,  and  waxes  strong,  and  takes 
possession,  not  only  of  the  intellect,  but  of  the 
whole  man,  and  gives  him  no  rest  till  he  finds  for 
it  an  adequate  expression  according  to  the  bent  of 
his  genius,  be  it  that  of  a  poem,  a  novel,  an  essay, 
or  a  historical  study,  a  painting,  a  statue,  or  a 
musical  composition. 

4.  In  all  this  the  literary  mind  experiences, 
with  a  thoughtful  writer,  "how  hard  it  is  to  think 
one's  self  into  a  thing  and  to  think  its  central 
thought  out  of  it. "  2  It  is  not  the  work  of  a  few 
days  or  a  few  weeks.  It  is  a  slow  and  elaborate 
process.  At  the  age  of  four  Goethe  first  wit- 
nessed the  puppet-show  of  "Faust."  He  was  still 
a  child  when  he  read  the  legend.3  From  the  start, 
the  idea  enters  his  soul,  and  takes  possession  of  it, 
and  grows  into  a  thing  of  life ;  and  forthwith  it  be- 
comes the  ruling  idea  of  his  existence,  and  he  makes 

1  Plato,  Gorgias,  cap.  xlv. 

2  Hare,  Guesses  at  Truth,  p.  275. 

8  In  an  abridgment  of  Widmann's  Faust-Book.    See  Bayard  Tay- 
lor's translation  of  Goethe's  Faust,  vol.  i.  appendix,  pp.  397-403. 


HABITS  OF  THOUGHT  43 

it  the  inspiration  of  his  activity,  and  moulds  upon 
it  in  many  respects  both  thought  and  conduct,  and 
picking  up  all  the  traits  and  characteristics  of  his 
age,  he  weaves  them  into  this  legend,  not  hastily, 
but  slowly,  studiously,  in  the  spirit  of  true  art, 
till,  finally,  in  his  eighty-second  year  he  pens  the 
last  line  of  his  great  Faust-poem.  The  first  im- 
pression in  his  fourth,  the  first  line  in  his  twenty- 
fourth,  the  last  line  in  his  eighty-second  year; 
this  is  a  lesson  that  who  runs  may  read.  The  ex- 
ample of  Goethe  illustrates  the  spirit  of  artistic 
genius.  It  takes  the  old  and  remodels  it  into  a 
new  artistic  whole.  The  scientific  genius  builds 
upon  the  foundations  already  laid.  A  Newton  or 
a  Descartes  may  add  to  the  sum  of  mathematical 
knowledge ;  he  may  give  new  methods  of  demon- 
stration and  calculation ;  but  he  leaves  untouched 
every  principle  and  every  proposition  that  science 
had  previously  established.  Even  when  such  a  sci- 
entific genius  grasps  by  anticipation  a  new  law  or 
a  new  truth,  he  coordinates  it  with  other  known 
laws,  and  thereby  corrects  his  first  impressions. 

5.  Not  so  the  literary  genius;  for,  though  the 
man  of  letters  and  the  man  of  science  have  this  in 
common,  that  the  terms  they  use  possess  a  recog- 
nized value,  still  he  of  the  literary  habit  makes  not 
—  nor  does  he  seek  to  make  —  a1  connection  or  a 
continuity  with  aught  of  the  past ;  having  grasped 
the  ideal,  he  labors  to  give  it  full  and  adequate  ex- 
pression independently  of  any  other  ideal,  past  or 
present.  He  lives  and  breathes  in  an  atmosphere 
of  opinion  and  assumption  that  permeates  his  think- 


44     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

ing,  and  colors  both  thought  and  language;  he 
takes  it  all  for  granted ;  he  draws  from  it  the  ma- 
terial with  which  to  shape  and  strengthen  his  own 
creation.  Biehter,  in  contemplating  this  literary 
habit  of  thought,  is  filled  with  admiration :  "  I  fear 
and  wonder,"  he  says,  "at  the  latent  almightiness 
with  which  man  orders,  —  that  is,  creates  his  range 
of  ideas.  I  know  no  better  symbol  of  creation."  l 
It  is,  indeed,  the  process  of  moulding  something 
entirely  new  and  distinct  out  of  material  hitherto 
used  for  other  purposes.  It  is  a  creation  because 
it  is  a  launching  into  existence  of  an  artistic  type 
that  preexisted  only  as  an  ideal  in  the  author's 
mind.  As  such,  it  is  an  imitation  —  as  indeed  is 
all  art  —  in  a  finite  manner,  and  within  the  limits 
belonging  to  finiteness,  of  the  creative  act  by  which 
the  Infinite  First  Cause  drew  all  things  from  no- 
thingness.2 

6.  But  there  are  certain  habits  of  thought  in 
which  literary  and  scientific  methods  interlace  and 
overlap  to  the  detriment  of  both  letters  and  sci- 
ence. Scientific  habits  of  thinking,  for  instance, 
lead  the  scientist  to  look  upon  persons  and  things 
no  longer  in  their  concrete  nature,  but  rather  as  so 
many  abstractions,  or,  at  most,  as  concrete  speci- 
mens of  an  abstract  principle.  His  very  feelings 
and  emotions  he  learns  to  classify  and,  as  far  as 
possible,  separate  from  himself.  He  measures  the 

1  Wit,  Wisdom,  and  Philosophy  of  Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Eichter, 
§  xi.  p.  129. 

2  See  Gioberti,  Del  Bello,  cap.  vi.     Del  Modo  in  cui  la  Fantasia 
Esietica  si  pu6  dire  Creatrice  del  Bello,  p.  105- 


HABITS  OF  THOUGHT  45 

worth  of  things  accordingly.  They  possess  value  for 
him  in  proportion  as  they  explain  a  difficult  prob- 
lem, or  contribute  a  new  truth  to  the  sum  of  know- 
ledge. It  has  been  well  remarked:  "Even  the  feel- 
ings of  speculative  men  become  speculative.  They 
care  about  the  notions  of  things  and  their  abstrac- 
tions, and  their  relations,  far  more  than  about  the 
realities."1  So  that,  whilst  the  scientist  may  un- 
wittingly bring  literary  habits  to  bear  upon  scien- 
tific issues,  to  the  detriment  of  science,  unwittingly 
also  may  he  bring  his  scientific  habits  into  affairs  of 
every -day  life,  and  measure  persons  and  things  by 
a  false  criterion.  So,  also,  may  the  man  of  a  liter- 
ary way  of  thinking  use  false  weights  and  measures 
in  forming  his  estimates.  "An  author's  blood," 
we  are  told,  "will  turn  to  ink.  Words  enter  into 
him  and  take  possession  of  him,  and  nothing  can 
obtain  admission  except  through  the  passport  of 
words."  2  And,  because  words  do  not  always  rep- 
resent the  full  measure  of  things,  or  are  at  times 
totally  inadequate  to  express  the  relations  of  things, 
the  mind  living  in  words  becomes  guilty  of  blun- 
ders no  less  egregious  than  the  mind  living  in*  ab- 
stractions. What,  then,  is  the  normal  state  of  the 
mind? 

n. 

1.  The  normal  function  of  the  human  intellect  is 
to  apprehend  truth.  Its  activity  feeds  upon  truth, 
and  by  truth  is  nourished.  For  truth  it  was  cre- 
ated ;  by  the  light  and  warmth  of  truth  it  develops 

1  Hare,  Guesses  at  Truth,  p  495.  2  Ibid. 


46    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

in  strength  and  grasp ;  without  the  truth,  it  gropes 
in  darkness,  restless,  yearning,  in  misery,  hunger- 
ing and  thirsting  for  that  which  alone  can  satiate 
its  desires.  There  may  be  barriers  in  the  way;  it 
may  require  enduring  labor  to  remove  the  barriers ; 
opposition  only  sharpens  the  eagerness  with  which 
the  quest  is  pursued.  In  this  life,  subject  to  the 
present  order  of  things,  with  body  and  sense  stand- 
ing between  the  soul  and  the  apprehension  of  all 
knowledge,  it  is  not  easy  to  determine  which  is  the 
true  and  which  the  false.  The  gratuitous  and  un- 
questioned notions  acquired  in  early  training;  the 
habits  of  thought  in  which  the  intellect  works ;  nat- 
ural likes  and  dislikes ;  feeling,  sentiment,  inclina- 
tion ;  prejudices  of  the  age  and  the  race ;  assump- 
tions and  opinions  that  are  the  outcome  of  one's 
environment,  —  are  all  so  many  hindrances  in  the 
way  of  the  clear  and  simple  apprehension  of  truth. 
But  they  are  not  insuperable  barriers.  The  human 
intellect,  acting  in  its  normal  state,  and  according 
to  the  laws  of  its  nature,  may  with  time  and  pa- 
tience, and  without  deceiving  itself  in  the  process, 
attain  to  the  knowledge  of  truth.  It  cannot  ac- 
cept error  as  error;  and  if  error  does,  as  error 
will,  enter  into  its  calculations,  it  first  assumes 
the  garb  of  truth,  and  as  such  alone  is  it  admitted. 
Thoughtful  study,  comparison,  careful  reasoning 
upon  evident  principles,  truths,  and  facts,  furnish 
sufficient  light  to  penetrate  the  mask  and  reveal 
the  underlying  falsity,  if  falsity  there  be. 

2.  It  is  within  the  province  of  the  human  mind 
not  only  to  apprehend  the  truth,  but  also  to  recog- 


HABITS  OF  THOUGHT  47 

nize  it  as  truth.  In  this  recognition  consists  the 
mind's  certainty.  We  know  and  distinguish  with 
absolute  certainty  that  two  and  two  make  four, 
and  not  five  or  three.  There  is  nothing  relative 
either  in  our  knowing  this  truth  or  in  our  being 
certain  of  it.  The  Hottentot  and  the  Indian  are 
equally  certain.  The  agnostic  who  denies  this  ab- 
solute certainty  is  also  equally  certain.  If  you 
would  inquire  how  we  know  that  we  are  certain 
with  an  absolute  certainty,  we  can  give  you  no 
further  reason  than  that,  being  constructed  as  we 
are,  we  cannot  think  differently.  This  certainty 
is  an  ultimate  fact  of  consciousness.  It  is  of  the 
very  essence  of  our  reason  so  to  think.  We  are 
what  we  are.  We  find  ourselves  to  be  what  we 
are  as  thinking  beings  independently  of  ourselves. 
We  take  ourselves  on  trust.  We  take  on  trust  all 
the  faculties  of  our  souls.  We  use  them  as  we 
find  them.  What  they  report  to  our  conscious- 
ness —  our  inner  selves  —  as  true,  we  accept  as 
true.  We  cannot  do  otherwise.  The  attitude  of 
our  mind  towards  all  knowledge  is  the  same  to  this 
extent :  that  in  all  it  seeks  to  discern  the  true  from 
the  false,  to  reject  the  false  and  to  accept  the  true. 
3.  For  this  reason  we  cannot  agree  with  Mr. 
Herbert  Spencer  when  he  tells  us  that  "we  are  not 
permitted  to  know  —  nay,  we  are  not  even  per- 
mitted to  conceive  —  that  Reality  which  is  behind 
the  veil  of  Appearance."1  Why  not?  Where  is 
the  hindrance?  Since  we  recognize  this  reality, 
do  we  not  conceive  it?  It  would  seem  as  though 
1  First  Principles,  p.  110. 


48     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

the  knowing  and  thinking  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer 
were  not  the  knowing  and  thinking  of  the  normal 
intellect.  If  we  are  not  permitted  to  know  or  con- 
ceive the  reality  back  of  appearance,  how  come  we 
to  know  that  it  exists?  And  yet  Mr.  Spencer  is 
sure  of  its  existence  and  recognizes  it  as  essential 
to  our  thinking.  Elsewhere  he  explained  himself 
more  fully  in  these  words :  "  Phenomenon  with- 
out noumenon  is  unthinkable;  and  yet  noumenon 
cannot  be  thought  of  in  the  true  sense  of  thinking. 
We  are  at  once  obliged  to  be  conscious  of  a  reality 
behind  appearance,  and  yet  can  neither  bring  this 
consciousness  of  reality  into  any  shape,  nor  can 
bring  into  any  shape  its  connection  with  appear- 
ance. The  forms  of  our  thought,  moulded  on  ex- 
periences of  phenomena,  as  well  as  the  connotations 
of  our  words  formed  to  express  the  relations  of 
phenomena,  involve  us  in  contradictions  when  we 
try  to  think  of  that  which  is  beyond  phenomena; 
and  yet  the  existence  of  that  which  is  beyond  phe- 
nomena is  a  necessary  datum  alike  of  our  thoughts 
and  our  words."  x  Plato  clearly  makes  the  distinc- 
tion :  "  That  which  is  apprehended  by  intelligence 
and  reason  always  is,  and  is  the  same;  but  that 
which  is  conceived  by  opinion  with  the  help  of  sen- 
sation and  without  reason,  is  always  in  a  process 
of  becoming  and  perishing  and  never  really  is."2 
Underlying  the  confusion  of  thought  in  Mr.  Her- 
bert Spencer's  assertion  is  an  important  fact,  not 

1  "  Last  Words  about  Agnosticism,"   Nineteenth  Century,  No- 
vember, 1884. 

2  TimcKUs,  Jowett's  Plato,  vol.  iii.  p.  612. 


HABITS  OF  THOUGHT  49 

sufficiently  considered  by  the  philosopher  of  evolu- 
tion. It  is  the  fact  that  thought  is  always  more 
than  its  expression.  But  why  quarrel  on  this  ac- 
count with  either  thought  or  expression,  so  long 
as  each  is  evolved  according  to  the  law  of  our 
intelligence?  That  intelligence  is  limited  in  its 
operations ;  but  it  is  not  we  who  have  defined  the 
limits,  or  set  the  boundaries.  We  find  ourselves 
with  those  limitations;  we  cannot  change  them. 
Our  consciousness  reports  to  us  the  phenomenon; 
our  reason  infers  that  there  is  no  meaning  in 
phenomenon  without  noumenon.  The  one  con- 
notes the  other  in  our  thinking.  What  substance 
is  to  accident,  what  the  ideal  is  to  the  actual,  what 
essence  is  to"  existence,  the  noumenon  is  to  the 
phenomenon.  We  perceive  the  one  in  the  other. 
We  perceive  it  and  we  know  it.  We  accept  the 
vouchment  of  our  intellect  on  the  subject. 

4.  True,  we  cannot  pass  beyond  this  vouchment 
and  give  the  noumenon  a  local  habitation  and  a 
name.  What  then?  At  this  point  we  discern  the 
fallacy  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer's  conclusions.  He 
seems  to  forget  that  the  ultimate  analysis  of  any 
and  every  thought  brings  home  to  us  the  fact  that 
the  clearly  defined  image  of  the  thought  does  not 
represent  the  whole  thought;  that  that  image  is 
only  a  symbol;  that  the  word  in  which  that  image 
is  expressed  is  also  a  symbol;  and  that  in  this  man- 
ner every  expression  is  only  a  symbol  symbolizing 
a  symbol  of  the  thing  expressed.  And  it  may 
happen,  and  it  does  happen,  that  we  think  correctly 
in  terms  of  things  of  which  we  know  nothing  be- 


50     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

yond  their  existence  and  their  relations.  Such  is 
the  case  with  space  and  time.  The  great  intellect 
of  an  Augustin  wrestled  with  the  problems  of 
these  two  ideas;  the  more  he  sought  to  fathom 
them,  the  greater  was  his  awe.  And  his  verdict  on 
the  problem  of  time  is  that  in  which  all  thinkers 
must  rest.  "If  nobody  questions  me,  I  know;  if 
I  should  attempt  an  explanation,  I  know  not."1 
In  other  words,  we  know  these  things  to  use  them 
rightly  in  our  thinking;  but  we  cannot  grasp  at 
a  sufficiently  clear  image  of  them  to  explain  them 
to  others. 

5.  Plato,  in  another  of  those  sublime  passages 
that  light  up  a  whole  world  of  thought,  thus  shows 
how  our  knowledge  of  things  is  not  simply  of  the 
transient  and  the  phenomenal,  but  of  essences  and 
eternal  principles  :  "Essence,"  he  says,  "which 
really  exists  colorless,  formless,  and  intangible,"  — 
which,  therefore,  let  me  remark,  is  above  the  con- 
ditions of  time  and  space,  —  "  is  visible  only  to 
intelligence  that  guides  the  soul,  and  around  this 
essence  the  family  of  true  science  take  up  their 
abode.  And,  as  the  Divine  Mind  is  nourished  by 
intelligence  and  pure  science,  so  the  mind  of  every 
soul  that  is  about  to  receive  what  properly  belongs 
to  it,  when  it  sees  after  a  long  time  that  which  is,  is 
delighted,  and  by  contemplating  the  truth  is  nour- 
ished and  thrives.  .  .  .  And  it  beholds  Justice  her- 
self, and  temperance,  and  science,  not  that  to  which 
creation  is  annexed,  nor  that  which  is  different 

1  Quid  est  ergo  tempus  ?     Si  nemo  ex  rae  quaerat,  scio  ;  si  quse- 
renti  explicate  velim.  nescio.       Conf.  lib.  xi.  cap.  xiv. 


HABITS  OF  THOUGHT  51 

in  different  things  of  those  we  call  real,1  but  that 
which  is  science  in  what  really  is."z  Therefore, 
in  opposition  to  Mr.  Spencer,  we  may  lay  down 
the  proposition  that  we  not  only  think  the  nou- 
menon,  but  we  know  it  and  conceive  it  behind 
the  phenomenon,  not  indeed  as  an  image  distinct 
from  the  phenomenon,  but  as  an  element  in  the 
existence  of  the  phenomenon  without  which  the 
phenomenon  would  be  unthinkable.  Furthermore, 
we  may  affirm  that  although  our  thinking  is  cir- 
cumscribed, words  and  images  are  not  the  measure 
of  its  limits.3 

6.  Nor  can  we  agree  with  Pascal  when  he  tells 
us :  "  It  is  a  natural  disease  of  man  to  believe  that 
he  possesses  truth  directly;  whence  it  comes  that 
he  is  always  disposed  to  deny  whatever  he  does  not 
understand ;  whereas  in  reality  he  naturally  knows 
only  falsehood,  and  he  should  take  for  true  only 
those  things  whose  opposites  seem  false."4  Why 
call  that  conviction  of  direct  knowledge  of  the  truth 
a  malady  ?  What  would  become  of  reasoning  and 
inferring,  of  all  indirect  knowledge,  if  that  which 
we  hold  directly  is  not  valid  ?  It  is  all  based  upon 
this  very  conviction.  Man  is  born  for  the  truth; 
how  comes  it  that  falsehood  should  be  more  accept- 

1  Or  as  Jowett  more  strongly  translates  it,  "  Not  in  the  form  of  cre- 
ated things  or  of  things  relative,  which  men  call  existence,  but  know- 
ledge absolute  in  existence  absolute  "      Plato,  vol.  ii.  p.  124,  2d  ed. 

2  Phcedrus,  cap.  xxvii.  p.  713. 

8  Were  this  the  place,  it  might  be  shown  that  this  fallacy  runs 
through  much  of  Mr.  Spencer's  reasoning  regarding  personality 
and  all  the  elements  of  Christian  philosophy. 

4  Penstes,  t.  i.  premieie  partie,  art   ii.  p.  154. 


52     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

able?  "If  our  intellect,"  says  Mivart,  "  is  to  be 
trusted  at  all,  it  must  be  trusted  in  what  it  declares 
to  be  the  most  certain  of  all,  namely,  necessary 
truths."1  But  our  intellect  is  to  be  trusted  even 
as  we  trust  the  reality  of  our  own  existence ;  and 
necessary  truths  do  not  come  to  us  by  a  process  of 
indirection,  but  are  directly  and  immediately  self- 
evident.  We  have  no  other  vouchment  than  that 
we  take  upon  trust  our  whole  nature,  and  with  it 
the  normal  workings  of  our  intellect.  You  may 
call  it  an  assumption  or  any  other  name  you  choose 
to  give,  but  it  is  none  the  less  a  fact  the  most  pri- 
mary of  all  facts,  underlying  all  action,  be  it  phy- 
sical, moral,  or  intellectual.  Universal  skepticism 
is  an  absurdity;  the  very  act  of  doubting  all  things 
is  a  positive  mental  act.  Therefore  the  habit  of 
confidingness  is  the  healthier  habit  of  mind.  Speak- 
ing of  these  two  habits,  Cardinal  Newman,  with 
that  keenness  and  practical  grasp  of  his  subject  for 
which  he  is  preeminent,  says:  "Of  the  two,  I 
would  rather  have  to  maintain  that  we  ought  to 
begin  with  believing  everything  that  is  offered  to 
our  acceptance,  than  that  it  is  our  duty  to  doubt 
of  everything.  The  former,  indeed,  seems  the  true 
way  of  learning.  In  that  case,  we  soon  discover 
and  discard  what  is  contradictory  to  itself;  and 
error  having  always  some  portion  of  truth  in  it, 
and  the  truth  having  a  reality  which  error  has  not, 
we  may  expect  that  when  there  is  an  honest  pur- 
pose and  fair  talents,  we  shall  somehow  make  our 

1  A  Philosophical  Catechism  for  Beginners,  p.  25.     This  little 
book  is  a  marvel  of  clearness  and  condensation. 


HABITS  OF  THOUGHT  53 

way  forward,  the  error  falling  off  from  the  mind, 
and  the  truth  developing  and  occupying  it." l 

7.  When,  therefore,  we  are  told  that  "error  is 
inextricably  bound  up  with  the  spirit  of  man,"  we 
may  interpret  it  in  the  sense  that  it  is  with  diffi- 
culty, and  after  long  search,  man  is  enabled  to  dis- 
cover truth,  and  disentangle  it  from  the  errors  with 
which  it  not  infrequently  is  bound  up.  But  we 
must  keep  this  fact  distinct  from  the  no  less  pal- 
pable fact  that  in  itself  and  by  the  light  of  reason 
man's  intellect  recognizes  at  sight,  and  accepts 
with  a  certainty  beyond  cavil,  all  necessary,  self- 
evident  truths  as  truths  necessary  and  self-evident. 
Be  it  remembered  that  it  is  the  truth  that  is  ne- 
cessary, and  not  the  error.  Truth  is  of  things. 
Truth  is  reality.  Error  is  only  accidental.  And 
when  the  writer  whom  we  have  just  quoted,  mak- 
ing error  necessary,  adds  the  following  remarks, 
we  feel  bound  not  only  to  dissent  from  him,  but  to 
disengage  the  truth  from  the  sophism  in  which  he 
has  enveloped  it.  "This  necessary  error,"  von 
Hellwald  tells  us,  "  is  the  essence  of  religion,  the 
phantasy,  the  ideal.  Man  has  an  innate  tendency 
to  form  ideals.  It  would  be  blocking  the  way  to 
every  deeper  insight  into  things  did  we  hesitate  to 
consider  the  first  stirrings  of  religion  in  man  as  the 
first  emergence  of  the  ideal."2  He  thus  insists 
that  all  religion  is  based  upon  error  and  illusion,  and 
makes  the  ideal  the  outcome  of  necessary  error. 

1  Grammar  of  Assent,  2d  ed.  p.  377. 

2  F.  von  Hellwald,  Culturgeschichte,  bd.  i.  p.  46.     Tilmann  Pesch, 
8.  J.,  Die  Grossen  Weltrdthsel,  bd.  ii.  p.  501. 


54     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Indeed,  he  considers  it  a  profound  saying  of  the 
poet,  that  error  alone  is  life  and  knowledge  is 
death.1  This  is  the  last  word  of  the  philosophy  of 
negation. 

8.  Certainly  it  is  a  remarkable  intellectual  feat 
that  bases  that  which  represents  whatever  is  per- 
fect in  man's  conception  and  positive  in  the  order 
of  things  as  the  outcome  of  mere  negation.  Art 
has  its  ideal;  life  has  its  ideal;  religion  has  its 
ideal ;  civilization  has  its  ideal.  Are  these  ideals 
the  outcome  of  error  and  illusion  ?  Has  it  indeed 
come  to  this,  that  men  gather  grapes  of  thorns? 
that  the  seeds  of  error  grow  up  and  give  forth  the 
ripe  and  luscious  fruit  of  truth?  that  deception 
may  be  sown  and  confidence  reaped?  No;  error 
exists  but  as  the  excrescence  cast  off  by  truth. 
There  could  be  no  wrong  if  there  were  not  first 
a  right;  there  could  be  no  error  if  truth  did  not 
have  a  prior  existence ;  there  could  be  no  ideal  if 
there  were  not  a  foundation  of  absolute  truth,  ab- 
solute goodness,  and  absolute  beauty  upon  which 
to  build  up  the  ideal.  Surely  literature  and 
art  cannot  be  the  outcome  of  error.  Think  you 
the  ideals  after  which  Shakespeare  and  Dante, 
Beethoven  and  Haydn,  Rafael  and  Murillo  and  Mi- 
chael Angelo,  constructed  their  masterpieces,  are 
the  growth  of  error?  Error  and  mistake  may  enter 
into  every  human  expression  of  the  ideal ;  but  the 

1  Eben  so  wahr  als  tief  ist  des  Dichter's  Spruch :  — 

"  Nur  der  Irrthum  ist  das  Leben, 
Und  das  Wissen  ist  der  Tod." 

Culturgeschichte,  p.  49. 


HABITS  OF  THOUGHT  55 

error  and  the  mistake  are  not  of  the  ideal.  It  is 
rather  because  human  hands  are  unskilled,  and  hu- 
man expression  is  stammering,  and  human  judg- 
ment is  feeble.  Let  us  dwell  a  moment  on  the 
nature,  the  origin,  and  the  functions  of  the  ideal, 
and  we  shall  be  in  better  position  to  understand 
how  it  is  that  genius  is  not  a  living  in  error,  nor 
art  a  groping  after  illusions. 


CHAPTER   VI. 
THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT. 


1.  A  GENIUS  conceives   and   expresses   a  great 
thought.     The  conception   so  expressed   delights. 
It  enters  men's  souls;  it  compels  their  admiration. 
They  applaud  and  are  rejoiced  that  another  master- 
piece has  been  brought  into  existence  to  grace  the 
world  of  art  or  letters.     The  genius  alone  is  dis- 
satisfied.    Where  others   see    perfection,  he  per- 
ceives something  unexpressed  beyond  the  reach  of 
his  art.     Try  as  best  he  may,  he  cannot  attain  that 
indefinable   something.     Deep   in  his   inner   con- 
sciousness he  sees  a  type  so  grand  and  perfect  that 
his  beautiful  production  appears  to  him  but  a  faint 
and  marred  copy  of  that  original.     That  original 
is  the  ideal;  and  the  ideal  it  is  that  appeals  to  the 
^Esthetic  Sense,  and  calls  forth  men's  admiration. 

2.  An  analysis  of  this  admiration  will  lead  us 
to  an  understanding  of  the  ideal.     It  is  universal. 
The  ^Esthetic  Sense  is  as  innate  to  man  as  is  his 
physical  sense  of  taste  or  touch.     Savage  and  civ- 
ilized admire  whatever  appeals  to  their  admiration. 
Now,  not  everything  does  so  appeal.     The  trivial, 
the  contemptible,  the  weak,  the  inferior,   are  all 
beneath  man's  sense  of  admiration.     The  virtuous, 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT  57 

the  noble,  the  heroic ;  whatever  expresses  strength 
or  power ;  whatever  is  beautiful  or  sublime ;  in  a 
word,  whatever  raises  man's  thoughts  and  aspira- 
tions to  a  superior  plane,  —  that  is  for  him  an  ob- 
ject of  admiration.  Man  has  within  him  two  op- 
posing elements.  One  seeks  to  raise  him  up  into 
a  spiritual  and  spiritualizing  sphere  of  thought  and 
action ;  the  other  tends  to  drag  him  down  to  things 
earthly  and  debasing.  They  are  the  two  steeds 
that  Plato  represents  the  soul  as  driving,  likening 
it  to  a  charioteer;  one  steed  "leans  and  presses 
heavily  towards  the  earth,  if  he  be  not  well-trained 
by  his  charioteer;"  the  other  is  "beautiful  and 
noble  and  of  a  godlike  character."1  They  are  the 
opposing  elements  —  the  law  in  his  members  fight- 
ing against  the  law  of  his  mind  —  of  which  St.  Paul 
speaks  in  language  less  allegorical.2  Now,  it  is 
the  function  of  this  sense  of  admiration  to  raise  up 
and  spiritualize  the  inferior  parts  of  man's  nature, 
so  that  they  grovel  not  in  things  earthly,  and  to 
strengthen  and  improve  his  nobler  aspirations. 
Where  man  may  not  imitate,  where  he  may  not 
even  love,  he  can  still  admire.  Wherever  an  ideal 
is  expressed,  there  is  an  object  for  his  admiration. 
We  may  not  be  able  to  explain  this  mysterious  re- 
lation, but  we  all  have  the  experience  of  it.  Our 
souls  are  so  attuned  as  to  give  out  a  music  respon- 
sive to  the  chords  that  are  touched.  This  we  know 
and  feel.  Let  us  study  the  impression. 

3.  Take  a  Rafael  or  a  Murillo.     We  gaze  upon 

1  Plato,  Phcedrus,  cap.  xxv.  p.  712,  t.  i.  ed.  Hirschigii. 

2  Romans  vii.  23. 


58     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

the  painted  canvas  till  its  beauty  has  entered  our 
soul.  The  splendor  of  that  beauty  lights  up  within 
us  depths  unrevealed,  and  far  down  in  our  inner 
consciousness  we  discover  something  that  responds 
to  the  beauty  on  which  we  have  been  gazing.  It 
is  as  though  a  former  friend  revealed  himself  to  us. 
There  is  here  a  recognition.  The  more  careful  has 
been  our  sense-culture,  the  more  delicately  have 
our  feelings  been  attuned  to  respond  to  a  thing  of 
beauty  and  find  in  it  a  joy  forever,  all  the  sooner 
and  the  more  intensely  do  we  experience  this  recog- 
nition. And  therewith  comes  a  vague  yearning,  a 
longing  as  for  something.  What  does  it  all  mean? 
The  recognition  is  of  the  ideal.  "The  memory," 
says  Plato,  "on  beholding  the  beautiful  object,  is 
carried  back  to  the  nature  of  absolute  beauty."1 
Thus,  there  is  not  only  a  recognition ;  there  is  also 
a  reminiscence  of  a  higher  spiritual  order  of  things 
of  which  the  soul  has  had  occasional  glimpses; 
there  is  a  yearning  for  the  home  to  which  it  be- 
longs. Cavil  as  men  may,  the  artistic  ideal  is  an 
essential  element  in  art  work  and  art  criticism ;  it 
speaks  to  something  higher  than  the  material  sense ; 
it  tells  of  something  more  than  technical  detail  and 
exquisite  finish.  There  are  moments  when,  beneath 
the  spell  of  some  great  masterpiece,  man  feels  the 
nearness  of  the  Godhead,  and  his  soul  is  thrilled 
with  emotions  that  vibrate  beneath  the  divine 
touch.  There  is  no  denying  what  is  a  universal 
experience.  "The  ideal,"  says  Charles  Blanc,  "is 
the  primitive  divine  exemplar  of  all  things ;  it  is, 

1  Phcedrus,  cap.  xxxv.  p.  718. 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT  59 

so  to  speak,  a  reminiscence  of  having  already  wit- 
nessed perfection,  and  the  hope  of  seeing  it  once 
again."1  Charles  Blanc  is  only  repeating  the 
magnificent  definition  of  the  ideal  which  has  come 
home  to  every  soul  not  buried  in  the  inert  material, 
and  which  has  been  echoed  down  the  ages  ever 
since  Plato  gave  it  expression:  "It  is,"  says  this 
wonderful  seer,  "a  recollection  of  those  things  our 
soul  formerly  beheld  when  in  company  with  God, 
despising  the  things  that  we  now  say  are,  and 
looking  upward  towards  that  which  really  is."2 
Without  admitting  the  Pythagorean  doctrine  of  a 
preexistent  state,  here  implied,  we  may  go  farther, 
and  say  that  without  the  ideal  there  is  no  reality. 

4.  Nature  recognizes  the  ideal.  She  has  her 
types,  and  works  by  them.  Each  of  her  products 
is  a  specific  realization  of  a  separate  type.  As 
genus  is  a  reality,  distinct  from,  and  causative  of, 
the  species,  so  is  each  of  Nature's  types  a  reality, 
distinct  from  the  concrete  thing  fashioned  after  it 
and  causative  thereof.  Hence  it  is  that,  in  the 
animal  and  even  in  the  vegetable  world,  we  daily 
witness  reversions  to  older  types  and  the  reproduc- 
tion of  ancestral  traits  of  character.  Nor  is  this 
all.  Ascending  higher  still 

"  Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs 
That  slope  through  darkness  up  to  God," 

we  come  to  the  prototype  of  all  created  types,  and 
find  it  existing  in  the  Word.  Here  is  the  source 

1  See   M.  Edouard   Pailleron's  "  Discours   sur   Charles  Blano 
dans  1'Acade'mie,"  Le  Temps,  18  Janvier,  1884. 

2  Phcedrus,  cap.  xxix.  p.  714. 


60     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

and  fountain-head  of  the  ideal.  In  the  Word, 
from  the  beginning  —  before  there  was  a  beginning 
of  time,  and  the  voice  of  God  caused  created  things 
to  leap  forth  from  nothingness,  —  throughout  the 
cycles  of  eternity,  —  in  that  perpetual  Now  which 
has  neither  past  nor  future,1  —  God  contemplates 
those  types.  By  the  Word  were  they  made  real  in 
the  order  of  created  things.  For  the  Word  is  the 
conception  of  the  Divine  Intelligence.2  In  God, 
who  is  most  pure  activity  and  absolute  actuality, 
being  and  conception  are  one  and  the  same  thing. 
And  so,  the  Father  recognizing  Himself,  and  the 
Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  all  other  things  con- 
tained in  the  Divine  Intelligence,  conceives  the 
Word.  Therefore  all  knowledge,  all  wisdom,  all 
created  things  are  in  the  Word  and  exist  by  reason 
of  the  Word.3  Were  the  eternal  type  not  in  the 
Word,  the  actual  existences  fashioned  after  it 
would  not  be.  And  this  is  why  we  say  that  with- 
out the  ideal  there  is  no  reality.  We  have  at  last 
found  the  origin  and  source  of  the  ideal.  In  all 
earnestness  have  we  sought  it ;  and,  hushed  in  holy 
awe  before  the  Godhead,  in  a  loving  reverence  do 

1  Plato  expresses  this  distinction  very  clearly :  "  And  the  terms  it 
was  —  r6  r^v  —  and  it  will  be  —  r6  r'Uffrai  —  are  generated  forms 
of  time,  which  we  have  wrongly  and  unawares  transferred  to  an 
eternal  Essence."       Timceus,  cap.  x. 

2  Dicitur  autem  proprte  Verbum  in  Deo,  secundum  quod  Verbum 
significat  conceptum  intellectus.       Summa  St.  Thomce.      Pars  I. 
Quaest.  xxxiv.  art.  1. 

3  Sic  ergo  uni  soli  personae  in  divinis  convenit  dici,  eo  modo  quo 
dicitur   Verbum.  .  .  .  Pater  enim  intelligendo  se,  et   Filium,  et 
Spiritum  sanctum,  et  omnia  alia  quse  ejus  scientia"  continentur, 
concipit  Verbum.      Ibid,  ad  3. 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT  61 

we  contemplate  its  splendor.  The  Word  is  not 
only  the  source  of  all  created  existences ;  the  Word 
is  also  the  light  that  enlightens  this  world.  Its 
glory  is  reflected,  now  dimly,  now  clearly,  in  every 
created  thing.  To  the  Word  did  we  trace  the 
source  whence  emanate  the  principles  of  our  think- 
ing. And  as  the  reason  is  illuminated  with  a  light 
above  and  beyond  the  sparks  that  it  throws  out  in 
its  workings,  that  light  giving  it  all  necessary  and 
self-evident  truths;  as  the  soul  is  nurtured  and 
strengthened  by  that  mysterious  energy  called  grace, 
so  the  created  ideal  in  each  individual  mind  is  en- 
lightened and  vivified  by  the  uncreated  ideal  dwell- 
ing in  the  Word.  This  illumination  of  the  ideal 
is  the  expression  of  the  beautiful. 

5.  We  now  know  whence  it  is  that  a  thing  of 
beauty  becomes  for  each  of  us  a  joy  forever.  It 
is  the  mission  of  the  artist  to  rend  the  veil  of 
accidents  and  accessories  in  which  the  ideal  is 
shrouded  and  present  it  to  us  in  all  its  beauty  and 
loveliness.  And  the  beauty  reflected  therefrom 
lights  up  the  folds  and  inner  caverns  of  our  souls, 
and  reveals  therein  a  recognition  of  this  ideal,  and 
reflected  from  our  inmost  souls  is  the  image  of  Him 
from  whom  we  come,  and  who  is  our  Home  —  his 
image  and  a  pale  reflex  of  the  splendor  of  his 
glory :  on  beholding  which  reflection  we  are  moved ; 
our  souls  are  stirred  to  their  very  centre ;  a  yearn- 
ing takes  possession  of  us,  —  a  longing  for  the 
Home  whence  we  came,  —  a  groping  after  the  In- 
visible Ideal,  —  and  we  feel  our  souls  vibrate  be- 
neath the  touch  of  the  Infinite.  God  is  in  us  and 


62     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

we  are  in  God,  and  the  sense  of  our  nearness  to 
Him  grows  upon  us.  This  is  the  experience  that 
passes  over  us  in  the  presence  of  the  ideal.  It  is 
the  experience  that  Plato  has  grandly  recorded  in 
his  wonderful  allegory.1 


II. 

1.  We  are  now  in  position  to  understand  the  im- 
portance of  an  ideal  in  literary  habits  of  thought. 
It  is  essential  to  them.  Literature  is  the  form  of 
art  the  most  varied  and  complicated.  Plato  hath 
well  and  aptly  said  of  a  literary  structure :  "  Every 
speech  ought  to  be  put  together  like  a  living  crea- 
ture, with  a  body  of  its  own,  so  as  neither  to  be 
without  head,  nor  without  hands,  nor  without  feet ; 
but  to  have  both  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end, 
described  proportionately  to  one  another  and  to  the 
whole."2  So  to  construct  a  literary  masterpiece 
that  part  fits  to  part  and  each  is  subordinate  to  the 
whole  requires  a  central  idea.  As  the  parts  in  the 
animal  organism  are  determined  by  the  vital  prin- 
ciple animating  them,  in  such  manner  that  all  un- 
consciously develop  into  fitness  and  harmony,  even 
so  is  it  with  the  literary  production.  When  the 
central  thought,  the  animating  principle,  the  ideal, 
is  clearly  grasped,  it  shapes  the  form  in  which  it 
would  be  expressed.  This  teaching  is  clear  and 
simple  and  as  ancient  as  art.  It  is  the  teaching 

1  In  the  Phcedrus,  cap.  xxxiii.-xxxviii. 

2  Phcedrus,  cap  xlvii.  p.  726. 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT  63 

on  which  all  the  masterpieces  throughout  the  ages 
have  been  constructed. 

2.  The  artist  disentangles  the  ideal  from  such 
accidents  and  accessories  as  tend  to  conceal  it,  and 
gives  it  a  new  embodiment.  Out  of  the  materials 
that  Nature  furnishes  he  fashions  for  it  a  body, 
and  breathes  into  that  body  the  ideal  as  its  living 
soul,  and  forthwith  the  masterpiece  stands  out  a 
thing  of  life  and  beauty  and  artistic  excellence  for 
undying  admiration.  Defects  of  detail  may  enter 
into  its  execution,  but  they  are  lost,  forgotten,  ab- 
sorbed in  the  general  effect  produced.  It  is  the 
"Transfiguration  "  of  Rafael.  Who,  in  presence  of 
that  noble  scene,  would  cavil  about  the  posing  of 
limbs  or  the  laws  of  perspective  ? l  It  is  the  "  Ham- 
let" of  Shakespeare.  Surely,  he  who  overlooks 
the  power,  the  depth,  the  philosophy,  the  dramatic 
greatness  of  that  tragedy,  and  quarrels  with  gram- 
matical structure  or  obscure  expression,  has  yet  to 
learn  the  elements  of  true  criticism.  Or,  it  is  the 
uPhaedo"of  Plato,  whose  sublime  thoughts  so  fre- 
quently recur  throughout  the  sentences  here  penned. 
He  who  should  stop  at  the  hard  metaphysic  or  the 
apparently  pointless  questions  and  obscure  answers, 
and  should  refuse  to  soar  with  Socrates  in  his  dy- 
ing song  into  the  pure  regions  of  truth,  proves 
that  he  lacks  the  sympathy  and  knowledge  to  ap- 
preciate Grecian  thought  in  the  days  of  Plato,  and 
is,  therefore,  unable  to  place  at  its  worth  one 
of  the  sublimest  pieces  of  writing  ever  penned  by 

1  For  an  instance  of  such  caviling,  see  Taine's  Italy,  Eng.  tr. 
pp.  142,  143.      • 


64     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

human  hand.1  Or,  it  is  the  "Divina  Commedia." 
What  boots  it  that  Dante's  estimates  of  men  and 
measures  are  not  those  of  the  historian?  It  de- 
tracts naught  from  the  wonderful  poem.  Men  are 
lost  in  admiration  when  they  note  the  care  with 
which  word  is  built  upon  word,  each  having  a 
special  significance,  and  all  made  into  a  grand 
allegory  wrought  out  of  the  politics  and  the  philo- 
sophy, the  strife  and  struggle,  the  fierce  hates  and 
the  strong  loves,  in  which  the  author  lived  and 
moved  and  fought.  Or,  it  is  Mozart's  "Requiem." 
The  critic  who  would  quarrel  with  that  grand  com- 
position because  in  its  intricate  and  complicated 
structure,  speaking  of  a  life's  hopes  and  fears,  and 
the  more  awful  hopes  and  fears  beyond  the  grave, 
he  misses  the  sweeter  strains  of  other  days  would 
fail  to  grasp  the  sublime  conception  of  the  piece  as 
a  whole.  Or,  it  is  the  gothic  cathedral.  Who 
thinks  of  making  faces  at  gargoyle  or  statued  niche, 
where  all  is  emblem  and  significancy,  the  stone  em- 
bodiment of  a  nation's  aspirations?  We  read  in 
it  thought,  satire,  censure,  desire,  pathos,  passion.2 
In  all  these  instances,  behind  the  mechanical  struc- 
ture, looking  out  upon  us,  and  peering  into  our 
souls,  is  the  ideal. 

1  It  is  this  lack  of  sympathy  that  makes  the  reading  of  Plato  so 
laborious.     Perhaps  it  is  failing  to  distinguish  between  the  mental 
habits  of  the  ancient  Athenians  and  those  of  modern  thinkers  that 
has  led  Mr.  Mahaffy,  in  his  admirable  History  of  Greek  Literature 
(vol  ii.  p.  173),  to  make  the  criticism  noticed  above  as  regards  part 
of  the  dialogue. 

2  This  idea  has  been  grandly  drawn  out  by  Victor  Hugo,  in 
Notre  Dame  de  Paris,  liv.  iii.  chap.  1- 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT  65 

3.  This  is  a  doctrine  unpopular  and  distasteful 
to  modern  ears.  None  the  less  do  we  here  repeat 
it  and  insist  upon  it  as  a  primary  factor  in  all 
the  higher  forms  of  thought  and  art,  and  an  ele- 
mentary principle  of  criticism.  It  is  now  claimed 
that  art  has  no  other  aim  than  to  construct  the 
form  for  the  form's  sake.  Now,  the  art  that  has 
only  itself  for  its  aim  may  amuse,  may  please,  may 
even  cause  admiration  on  account  of  the  mechanical 
skill  exhibited ;  but  it  is  not  the  art  that  endures 
for  all  time.  I  shall  grant  that  a  Shakespeare  or 
a  Goethe  may  sing  as  the  blackbird  sings ;  but  I 
deny  that  their  art  is  without  purpose,  still  less 
without  a  soul,  a  vivifying  ideal.  The  ideal,  in 
calling  forth  our  admiration  and  raising  up  our 
thoughts  to  things  higher  and  beyond  the  scenes  of 
every-day  life,  or  in  purifying  the  incidents  of  or- 
dinary duties,  is  educating  our  better  nature;  it 
is  working  with  a  purpose.  Ideal  and  purpose 
combined  determine  the  form.  "  To  act  with  a  pur- 
pose," says  Lessing,  "is  what  raises  man  above  the 
brutes ;  to  invent  with  a  purpose,  to  imitate  with  a 
purpose,  is  that  which  distinguishes  genius  from 
the  petty  artists  who  invent  to  invent,  imitate  to 
imitate." l  Be  it  remembered  that  nothing  outside 
of  the  Godhead  exists  for  its  own  sake.  The  art 
produced  in  this  spirit  is  sheer  pettiness.  Nowhere 
is  this  more  evident  than  in  the  world  of  letters. 
Just  as  a  word  has  value  only  inasmuch  as  it  ex- 
presses an  idea,  even  so  any  number  of  words  strung 
together  is  meaningless  and  inane,  unless  it  ex- 

1  Prose  works,  Bohn  ed.  Dramatic  Notes,  No.  34,  p.  327. 


66     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

presses  a  thought,  not  for  the  expression's  sake,  but 
for  that  of  the  thought.  The  sophists  of  Plato's  day 
attempted  to  teach  expression  for  the  form's  sake. 
He  refuses  the  very  name  of  art  to  such  expression. 
"She  lies,"  he  tells  us  in  his  own  scathing  words, 
"and  is  not  an  art,  but  an  inartistic  trick."1  In- 
deed, all  art  worthy  of  the  name  is  imbued  with  the 
earnestness  of  life.  Consciously  or  unconsciously, 
the  artist's  is  a  mission  to  crystallize  in  his  work 
the  spirit  of  the  age ;  it  is  also  his  mission  to  edu- 
cate his  age,  to  raise  it  above  itself,  and  to  sustain 
its  aspirations  upward  and  onward  — 

"  Artistry  being  battle  with  the  age 
It  lives  in !  Half  life,  —  silence,  while  you  learn 
What  has  been  done  ;  the  other  half,  —  attempt 
At  speech,  amid  world's  wail  of  wonderment  — 

'  Here  's  something  done  was  never  done  before  I ' 
To  be  the  very  breath  that  moves  the  age, 
Means  not  to  have  breath  drive  you  bubble-like 
Before  it  —  but  yourself  to  blow :  that 's  strain  ; 
Strain  's  worry  through  the  life-time,  till  there  's peace; 
We  know  where  peace  expects  the  artist-soul."  2 


III. 

1.  No  less  opposed  to  the  doctrine  of  the  ideal 
is  the  School  of  Realism  in  literature  and  art. 
This  school  either  ignores  the  ideal  or  regards  it 
as  the  product  of  error.  If  there  is  no  ideal,  or  if 
the  ideal  is  only  an  illusion,  then  there  is  nothing 
beyond  the  nature  we  behold  and  live  in ;  then  the 
supreme  effort  of  all  art  is  to  delineate  that  nature 

1  teal  OVK  fffn  T*XV(\,  dXA'  &TCXVOS  rpiftff.       Phcedrus,  cap.  xliii. 

2  Robert  Browning-,  Red  Cotton  Night-Cap  Country,  p.  110. 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT  67 

in  detail  with  the  greatest  fidelity;  then  the  sole 
rule  of  art  is,  "Copy,  describe,  imitate,  express 
minutely  whatever  you  see  or  hear;  the  more  accu- 
rately you  follow  your  model  the  greater  artist  you 
are."  There  is  in  this  doctrine  a  mixture  of  truth 
and  error.  True  it  is  that  art  cannot  ignore  nature. 
The  world  we  live  in  is  the  material  upon  which  art 
generally  works.  Therefore  the  artist  observes 
men  and  things ;  he  studies  the  nature  outside  him- 
self and  the  nature  within  himself ;  he  experiments ; 
he  compares,  judges,  discriminates;  in  this  way 
does  he  gather  up  and  select  the  subject-matter  upon 
which  he  afterwards  labors  for  artistic  purposes. 
But  there  is  in  all  this  more  than  mere  imitation. 
It  is  a  wholesome  realism,  and  does  not  exclude  the 
ideal.  It  is  the  realism  that  Millet  paints  and  Rus- 
kin  commends.  The  art  that  merely  imitates  can 
only  produce  a  corpse ;  it  lacks  the  vital  spark,  the 
soul,  which  is  the  ideal,  and  which  is  necessary  in 
order  to  create  a  living  organic  reality  that  will 
quicken  genius  and  arouse  enthusiasm  throughout 
the  ages.  Let  us  make  the  distinction ;  it  is  a  vital 
one :  Art  is  not  imitation ;  art  is  interpretation. 

2.  This  distinction  the  realistic  school  in  art  and 
letters  loses  sight  of.  Accordingly,  it  abandons  all 
attempt  at  an  ideal ;  it  makes  no  effort  to  read  the 
lessons  of  nature ;  it  sees  nothing  in  nature  to  read 
beyond  the  cold,  hard  lines  that  it  traces ;  it  holds 
that  as  the  only  knowledge  is  the  knowledge  arising 
out  of  observation  and  experiment,  upon  observa- 
tion and  experiment  alone  must  art  work.  And, 
as  the  novel  is  the  most  potent  literary  influence  of 


68     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

the  day,  the  realist  would  especially  make  the  novel 
a  mere  study  in  nature  and  character,  in  which 
naught  is  to  be  set  down  save  what  has  fallen  un- 
der the  eye  or  has  been  experienced  in  actual  life. 
On  the  face  of  it,  this  theory  is  sound  enough.  By 
all  means,  let  us  have  observation  and  experiment. 
But  distinguish  between  the  observation  that  takes 
in  all  the  elements  of  nature  and  the  observation 
that  regards  only  the  material  side  of  nature.  The 
latter  alone  falls  under  the  scope  of  the  realistic 
school.  It  has  no  other  field  for  development.  In 
consequence,  it  deals  only  with  man  living  and  act- 
ing out  his  brute  nature  in  all  its  cunning  and  sensu- 
ality. The  writers  of  this  school  give  us  the  result 
of  observations  indeed,  but  their  observations  are 
of  the  street  and  the  tavern ;  of  the  slum  and  the 
dive ;  of  passion  through  all  its  phases  wallowing 
in  the  mire  of  depravity.  They  picture  human  na- 
ture ;  but  it  is  diseased  human  nature.  Believing 
only  in  the  animal  man,  naught  else  remains  for 
the  members  of  this  school  to  depict.  Not  saintli- 
ness  of  life ;  for  saintliness  of  life  means  to  them 
only  hypocrisy,  or,  at  most,  warped  character.  Not 
nobility  of  thought  or  word;  for  the  weak,  the  err- 
ing, the  monstrous  in  human  nature  is  the  only 
theme  their  art  recognizes. 

3.  But  this  is  not  the  world  in  which  we  live  and 
move.  This  is  not  the  human  nature  that  we  are 
cognizant  of.  The  circle  of  our  acquaintance  in- 
cludes —  we  know  intimately  —  men  and  women  of 
a  far  different  stamp;  men  and  women  who  are 
true  and  faithful  in  their  love  and  friendship; 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT  69 

grand  and  generous  souls,  who  are  self-sacrificing 
whenever  good  is  to  be  accomplished  or  duty  to  be 
fulfilled ;  who  think  and  say  the  sweetest  and  sub- 
limest  thoughts;  whose  lives  are  pure  and  disinter- 
ested ;  whose  intentions  and  aspirations  are  elevated 
and  ennobling ;  who,  in  the  daily  round  of  their 
beautiful  lives,  shed  about  them  loveliness  and 
peace  and  joy  and  gladness  of  heart.  These  are 
the  men  and  women  that  surround  us.  Here  is 
the  reality  that  we  know.  Here  is  the  reality  that 
even  the  realist  knows.  It  is  only  in  his  library 
that  humanity  is  to  him  such  a  monster.  The  low- 
liest life  has  its  sublime  passages.  It  has  where- 
with to  inspire  the  artist,  for  it  has  its  ideal. 
Millet  dignifies  on  the  canvas  occupations  the  most 
menial;  Wordsworth  reveals  the  humblest  life 
thrilled  by  delicate  sentiment  or  by  strong  passion. 
Be  the  subject  what  it  may,  genius  will  ever  dis- 
cover in  it  an  ideal  that  shall  elevate  the  soul.  In 
this  thought  we  place  our  consolation  and  our  hope 
for  the  future  of  art  and  letters.  "Realism,"  said 
an  eloquent  French  preacher,  "is  a  chronic  disease; 
it  is  the  leprosy  of  art;  it  is  the  epidemic  of  liter- 
ature in  the  nineteenth  century."1  This  is  the 
proper  diagnosis  of  the  case.  Let  it  be  treated  as 
a  leprosy  or  an  epidemic.  It  is  at  most  but  a  pass- 
ing phase,  a  new  experience. 

4.  There  are  influences  hovering  over  epochs  and 

peoples  that  give  them  a  characteristic  coloring,  and 

place  upon  them  a  distinctive  impress.     Our  age  is 

preeminently  a  transition  period.     Steam  and  elec- 

1  P&re  Felix,  Conferences,  1867,  Conf.  v.  p.  251. 


70     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

tricity  have  added  wings  to  thought  and  action. 
Theories  appear  and  disappear  in  rapid  succession 
to  be  followed  by  others  as  transient.  New  discov- 
eries, new  industries,  and  new  sciences  are  hastily 
calling  for  new  terms,  new  habits  of  thought,  and 
new  methods  of  work.  And  yet,  much  of  our 
thinking  runs  in  old  grooves.  We  are  groping  in 
mist  and  darkness,  with  new  and  complex  problems 
pressing  upon  us  harder  and  faster  than  we  can 
solve  them.  Each  decade  brings  its  riddle.  The 
conjectures  of  one  decade  become  the  conclusions 
of  the  next,  and  are  made  the  elementary  truths  of 
the  third.  Hence  it  is  that  so  many  of  the  books 
of  the  day  are  mere  fleeting  records  of  impressions 
as  fleeting.  Hence  the  mental  entanglements  and 
inconsistencies  that  beset  men's  thoughts  and  ac- 
tions, their  reasonings  and  their  sentiments,  their 
formal  expressions  and  their  inner  convictions. 
The  clearly  demonstrated  truth  in  science  and  the 
distinctly  expressed  ideal  in  art  and  letters  alone 
remain  permanent  in  the  midst  of  these  ever  shift- 
ing scenes. 

5.  In  the  mean  time,  it  is  the  life-work  of  each  of 
us,  amid  the  changes  in  which  he  lives,  to  harmonize, 
in  his  own  person,  all  the  elements  that  go  to  make 
up  that  personality.  Socrates,  on  that  memorable 
day  when  he  drank  the  hemlock  cup,  told  the  faith- 
ful followers  who  were  gathered  around  him  how 
at  different  times  a  dream  visited  him  in  diverse 
forms,  exhorting  him  to  apply  himself  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  music.1  By  music  Socrates  meant  not 

1  Phvdo,  cap.  iv.  ed.  Hirschigii,  t.  i.  p.  46. 


THE  IDEAL  IN  THOUGHT  71 

simply  that  combination  of  sounds  that  catches  up 
a  few  fragments  of  this  world's  harmonies,  and 
with  them  moves  our  souls.  There  is  another  and 
a  higher  music.  It  is  the  music  of  a  soul  in  which 
dwell  order  and  method;  which  coordinates  all 
knowledge;  which  recognizes  the  ideal;  in  which 
the  good,  the  true,  and  the  beautiful  are  cultivated, 
each  according  to  its  own  nature,  and  by  its  own 
method.  It  is  the  rhythm  of  a  thoroughly  disci- 
plined intellect  and  a  well-regulated  life.  That 
dream  comes  to  us  all.  If  we  would  realize  that 
harmonious  development  to  its  full  extent  we  should 
cultivate  both  the  Spiritual  Sense  and  the  Moral 
Sense  with  care  and  assiduity. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CULTURE  OF  THE   SPIRITUAL   SENSE. 


1.  AT  the  start  I  would  call  attention  to  a  mod- 
ern spirit  that  is  abroad,  and  that  is  destructive  of 
spiritual  culture  and  spiritual  life.  Its  tone  and 
temper  pervade  the  pages  of  magazines  and  reviews ; 
its  meaning  runs  between  lines  in  popular  lectures ; 
its  accent  is  occasionally  heard  even  from  the  pul- 
pit. Its  countenance  is  severe,  its  cheek  pallid ;  it 
seems  to  groan  beneath  the  burden  and  the  respon- 
sibility of  human  life  throughout  the  whole  world. 
It  is  a  spirit  that  ponders  and  weighs  and  mea- 
sures the  mysteries  of  life  and  death,  of  time  and 
eternity,  with  the  small  weights  and  short  measure- 
ments of  its  own  estimates,  and  because  they  are 
found  inadequate  it  finds  fault,  not  with  the  weights 
or  measures,  but  with  the  mysteries,  and  endeavors 
to  ignore  them.  It  is  the  spirit  of  agnosticism  — 
a  spirit  that  in  the  face  of  the  noonday  sun  will 
deny  the  sun's  existence  and  call  it  a  phantasm  of 
the  brain.  Such  an  irrational  spirit  may  be  thought 
an  impossibility.  But  is  it  not  guilty  of  an  equally 
gross  piece  of  absurdity  when,  recognizing  Nature's 
laws,  it  denies  or  ignores  or  lays  aside  as  unknow- 
able a  Mind,  a  Personality,  a  First  Cause  to  make 


CULTURE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  SENSE      73 

and  govern  and  guide  those  laws  ?  Agnosticism  has 
it  well  named  itself.1  Confining  its  observations  to 
that  which  is  of  sense  and  feeling,  rising  no  higher 
than  the  phenomena  surrounding  it,  missing  the 
meaning  of  life,  dreaming  dreams  of  an  all-absorb- 
ing humanity  that  devours  individual  personality, 
and  ignoring  all  that  is  spiritual  in  man's  nature, 
—  all  the  supernatural  in  his  soul,  —  its  knowledge 
is  but  one-sided ;  its  thought,  a  serious  distraction ; 
its  very  essence,  a  doubt.  Its  views  of  moral  right 
and  of  right-doing  are  disintegrating  and  subver- 
sive of  men's  most  primary  notions  of  intention  and 
action.  It  looks  upon  prayer  as  a  loss  of  time  and 
a  waste  of  energy ;  the  cultivation  of  piety  is  in  its 
eyes  the  fostering  of  a  useless  sentiment  without  a 
real  object;  conscience  is  not  the  omnipresent  and 
all-speaking  voice  of  an  omniscient  Judge,  but  the 
inherited  disapproval  of  the  tribe;  self-reproach 
is  not  sincere  regret  for  wrong-doing,  but  a  new 
social  energy  intended  to  give  impulse  to  right  ac- 
tion; in  a  word,  wrong  is  wrong  only  so  far  as  it 
injures  the  race.  Agnosticism  has  its  teachers  and 
defenders.  Its  very  newness  makes  it  an  attraction 
for  those  ill-disposed  to  work  in  the  old  grooves  of 
thought.  Minds  as  brilliant  as  that  of  the  late 
Professor  Clifford,  as  patient  and  possessed  of  as 
powerful  grasp  as  that  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer, 
have  yielded  to  its  seductive  voice,  and  in  its  service 
have  become  the  hewers  of  wood  and  the  drawers  of 

1  Professor  Huxley,  objecting  to  the  word  materialist,  suggested 
that  he  and  his  school  be  called  agnostics.  This  was  in  1869,  at 
Mr.  James  Knowles's  house  in  Clapham  Common. 


74     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

water  through  long  and  toilsome  years.  Indolent 
minds  find  the  spirit  of  agnosticism  congenial  to 
their  moods,  inasmuch  as  it  teaches  them  to  ignore 
all  mystery  and  cut  the  Gordian  knot  of  every  diffi- 
culty by  relegating  it  to  the  Unknowable.  Cor- 
rupted minds  make  it  a  cloak  for  the  indulgence 
of  their  appetites  and  passions.  And  so  this  spirit 
has  that  in  it  which  can  fascinate  all  classes  of  in- 
telligence. It  talks  a  cant  phraseology  that  would 
make  one  believe  it  to  be  the  embodiment  of  what- 
ever is  noblest  in  the  teachings  of  Gautama  and  the 
Gospels  at  one  and  the  same  time.  It  gives  the 
shows  of  things  for  their  reality. 

2.  Such  is  agnosticism.  The  agnostic  refuses 
to  acknowledge  the  Unseen  Universe.  He  is  in- 
tolerant of  any  mention  thereof.  He  is  aggressive, 
bullying,  and  not  infrequently  insulting  in  his 
mode  of  assertion.  With  the  utmost  confidence  he 
assures  us  that  there  is  no  supernatural  order. 
He  has  proved  Christ  a  myth,  the  Gospels  clever 
forgeries,  and  Christianity  a  huge  imposition.  He 
insists  that  it  is  all  settled  beyond  controversy ;  only 
intellectual  babes  and  sucklings  think  differently 
from  him  to-day.  In  the  name  of  humanity,  —  he 
loves  humanity  exceeding  well,  —  and  in  the  name 
of  truth,  —  he  reveres  truth,  —  he  begs  you  to  set 
aside  all  such  silly  notions  as  that  there  exists  a  God, 
or  that  his  Providence  directs  the  affairs  of  men,  or 
that  you  have  a  soul.  This  is  indeed  a  new  dispen- 
sation. It  is  the  gospel  of  negation,  and  the  agnos- 
tic is  its  missionary.  But  in  the  name  of  whom  or 
of  what  does  he  come  ?  Assuredly,  not  in  the  name 


CULTURE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  SENSE       75 

of  common  sense,  for  the  common  sense  of  the 
whole  world  holds  with  absolute  certainty  the  very 
opposite  of  his  teachings.  Not  in  the  name  of 
revelation,  for  he  denies  the  possibility  of  a  revealed 
religion.  Not  in  the  name  of  human  authority,  for 
he  recognizes  no  authority  beyond  himself.  Not  in 
the  name  of  the  reason  within  him,  for  in  bringing 
himself  to  this  conviction  he  ignores  the  primary 
laws  of  all  reason.  "It  is,"  says  Cardinal  New- 
man, "the  highest  wisdom  to  accept  truth  of  what- 
ever kind,  wherever  it  is  clearly  ascertained  to 
be  such,  though  there  be  difficulty  in  adjusting  it 
with  other  known  truth."1  Now  here  is  where 
the  agnostic  errs.  He  has  a  favorite  theory,  a  pet 
notion  of  his  own.  It  is  a  mere  hypothesis  that 
may  or  may  not  be  true.  But  he  finds  difficulty  in 
adjusting  his  theory  with  truths  that  come  home 
to  the  highest  order  of  intelligence  with  an  irre- 
sistible force.  So  much  the  worse  for  the  truths 
and  the  intellect.  His  pet  conception  must  stand, 
and  the  universally  received  truths  may  vanish 
into  oblivion.  Of  course,  his  conclusions  cannot 
be  broader  than  his  premises.  The  elements  he 
drops  out  in  the  one  will  naturally  be  missing  in 
the  other.  Eliminating  the  supernatural  order, 
as  a  consequence  there  remains  in  the  visible  pro- 
cess of  his  reasoning  only  the  natural  order. 

3.  Withal,  the  supernatural  order  exists.  It 
secretly  enters  into  the  agnostic's  reasoning  and 
becomes  a  disturbing  element  in  his  calculations. 

1  Idea  of  a  University.     Lecture  on  Christianity  and  Scientific 
Investigation,  p.  462. 


76     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

He  may  ignore  it ;  he  may  neglect  it ;  lie  may  deny 
it;  but  he  cannot  destroy  it.  In  moral,  social, 
and  historical  discussions  it  crops  out  at  the  most 
unexpected  moments,  or  awaits  him  at  the  end  of 
his  speculations  and  forces  him  into  monstrous  par- 
adoxes.1 And,  strange  to  say,  the  agnostic  does 
not  perceive  how  illogical  he  is.  He  even  boldly 
asserts  that  in  recognizing  this  momentous  element 
in  human  thought  and  human  action,  we  thereby 
lose  all  claim  to  science.  Now,  science  is  a  me- 
thodical treatment  of  facts  according  to  given  prin- 
ciples. By  means  of  what  principles  and  accord- 
ing to  what  method  does  the  agnostic  arrive  at  his 
conclusion  ?  So  far  as  he  has  a  principle  at  all,  it 
is  reducible  to  this,  that  what  the  study  of  matter 
does  not  reveal  is  a  dream,  a  shadow ; 2  there  is  no 
reality  beyond  the  phenomena  testified  to  by  con- 
sciousness and  the  senses.3  That  is  to  say,  the  ag- 
nostic builds  up  his  materialistic  theories  upon  an 
assumption  made  expressly  to  exclude  that  which 
he  wishes  to  ignore.  Is  it  just  ?  Is  it  scientific  ? 
And  as  for  method,  the  agnostic  has  none.  He 
holds  aloof  from  all  religious  thoughts  and  remains 
in  a  state  of  apathy  towards  all  spiritual  issues. 
He  may  or  may  not  have  a  soul ;  it  is  unknowable. 
There  may  or  may  not  be  a  God;  He  also  is  un- 
knowable. All  such  questions  the  agnostic  re- 
gards with  sublime  indifference.  Nay,  he  considers 

1  For  instances  see  Mr.  Mallock's  work,  Is  Life  Worth  Living  f 
chap.  ix. 

2  Leslie  Stephen,  Dreams  and  Realities. 

8  The  Value  of  Life.     A  Reply  to  Mr.  Mallock's  Work,  p.  72. 


CULTURE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  SENSE       77 

it  a  matter  of  duty  and  of  wisdom  to  place  them  out 
of  sight  as  fruitless  speculation.  "By  continually 
seeking  to  know,"  says  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,  "and 
being  continually  thrown  back  with  a  deepened 
conviction  of  the  impossibility  of  knowing,  we  may 
keep  alive  the  consciousness  that  it  is  alike  our 
highest  wisdom  and  our  highest  duty  to  regard  that 
through  which  all  things  exist  as  the  Unknow- 
able."1 Now  if  those  issues  which  are  of  the 
natural  order  and  proved  by  the  unaided  light  of 
reason,  are  ignored  or  denied,  how  may  we  demon- 
strate the  existence  of  the  supernatural  order  which 
stands  beyond  the  domain  of  reason  upon  the  higher 
plane  of  Faith  and  God's  grace?  No  chain  of  rea- 
soning can  lead  to  this  invisible  region.  It  is  be- 
yond the  range  of  human  ken.  There  yawns  a 
chasm  between  agnosticism  and  Christianity  that 
human  hands  cannot  bridge  over.  Later  on  we 
shall  watch  a  great  modern  poet  wrestle  with  the 
problem. 

4.  To  the  eye  of  Faith  the  supernatural  world  is 
a  reality  as  real  as,  in  a  sense  more  real  than, 
the  natural  world.  He  who  denies  or  ignores 
it  understands  not  himself,  nor  humanity,  nor 
the  universe  in  which  he  finds  himself.  The  hu- 
man heart  knows  neither  rest  nor  happiness  till 
it  becomes  sanctified  in  this  mysterious  world. 
Therefore  it  is  that  an  Augustin  will,  while  still 
groping  towards  this  life  of  grace,  cry  out  from  the 
depths  of  his  own  experience :  "  Lord,  Thou  hast 
made  us  for  Thyself,  and  our  heart  is  restless  till 

1  First  Principles,  ch.  v.  p.  113. 


78     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

it  reposes  in  Thee."1  Even  an  Augustin  could 
not  enter  into  the  supernatural  life  by  the  force  of 
his  own  genius.  Reason  and  research  may  prepare 
the  way,  but  assent  to  the  supernatural  truths  of 
religion  is  elicited  from  the  intellect  only  by  com- 
mand of  the  will,  and  the  will  cannot  move  the 
intellect  to  such  an  assent  without  a  special  super- 
natural assistance  which  we  call  grace.  The  truths 
of  the  supernatural  order  are  seen  in  this  life 
darkly  as  through  a  glass.  They  are  not  to  be 
found  at  the  end  of  any  chain  of  syllogisms.  They 
are  not  to  be  learned  from  a  study  of  Nature's 
laws.  Human  reason  and  human  knowledge, 
whether  considered  individually  or  collectively  in 
the  race,  are  limited  to  the  natural.  Knowledge 
of  the  supernatural  can  come  only  from  a  Divine 
Teacher.  One  may  be  convinced  of  every  truth  of 
revealed  religion  and  yet  not  possess  the  gift  of 
faith.  That  gift  is  purely  gratuitous.  The  spirit 
of  God  breathes  where  it  will.  It  follows  sincere 
prayer  rather  than  curious  research.  But  once  it 
opens  the  eyes  of  the  soul,  it  reveals  beyond  all 
power  of  doubt,  or  cavil,  or  contradiction,  the  su- 
pernatural as  a  fact  solemn,  universal,  constant 
throughout  the  vicissitudes  of  ages.2 


II. 

1.  It  is  the  wisdom  of  true  philosophy  to  take 
man  as    he    is    and    deal  with  him   accordingly. 

1  Confess,  lib.  i.  cap.  1. 

2  See  Zigliara,  Propadeutica  ad  Sacram  Theologian,  pp.  11-117. 


CULTURE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  SENSE       79 

Now,  man  to  the  eye  of  reason  is  indeed  in  his 
essence  and  nature  a  rational  animal.  But  to  the 
eye  of  faith,  man  is  more.  He  is  also  a  child  of 
grace.  No  sooner  had  he  been  created  man  than 
he  became  the  recipient  of  God's  choicest  favors. 
And  when,  by  the  Fall,  he  had  forfeited  many  of 
his  high  prerogatives,  he  was  still  granted  grace 
sufficient  to  enable  him  to  repent  and  be  converted. 
It  is  within  every  man's  power  to  attain  the  high 
destiny  to  which  he  has  been  called;  but  he  can 
do  so  only  by  reason  of  the  saving  grace  that  flows 
from  the  Word.  This  is  not  a  law  of  to-day  or 
yesterday;  it  is  of  all  time.  "We  are  plants," 
says  Plato,  "not  of  earth,  but  of  heaven;  and 
from  the  same  source  whence  the  soul  first  arose, 
a  divine  nature,  raising  aloft  our  head  and  root, 
directs  our  whole  bodily  frame." :  We  come  from 
God  that  we  may  go  back  to  Him.  The  Word  be- 
came incarnate  for  all,  suffered  for  all,  died  for  all, 
redeemed  all  in  order  that  all  might  have  life  ever- 
lasting. Ours,  and  ours  alone,  will  be  the  fault  if 
we  should  wander  away  from  that  noble  destiny. 

"  Not  in  entire  f  orgetf  ulness, 
And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  ofylory,  do  we  come 
From  God,  who  is  our  home"  2 

2.  Therefore  is  it  worthy  of  our  noblest  efforts 
and  our  most  undivided  attention  to  foster  in  our- 
selves the  Spiritual  Life.  Herein  is  the  highest 
cultivation  of  the  Moral  Sense.  No  time  should 

1  Timceus,  cap.  Ixxi. 

2  Wordsworth,  Ode  on  Immortality. 


80     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

be  thought  too  precious  to  devote  to  it,  for  it  deals 
with  the  things  of  eternity;  no  thought  too  sus- 
tained or  too  painful,  for  its  object  is  the  Light  of 
all  intelligence.  In  the  prayers  that  we  make  to 
Him  who  is  the  Life  and  the  Light,  in  the  sacra- 
ments that  are  administered  to  us,  in  the  sermons 
that  we  hear  and  the  doctrinal  instructions  that  are 
given  us,  do  we  imbibe  the  food  that  will  nourish 
and  sustain  in  us  the  spiritual  life.  But  it  is 
not  with  the  Spiritual  Life  that  I  am  now  con- 
cerned ;  it  is  rather  with  the  Spiritual  Sense.  They 
are  distinct  and  are  not  always  found  together. 
The  sentiment  of  piety  and  sensible  relish  for  di- 
vine things  may  be  very  weak  in  a  nature  that  is 
spiritually  strong.  And  also,  one  may  be  very 
weak  in  the  practice  of  virtue,  and  still  possess 
this  sentiment  of  piety  to  a  high  degree  of  refine- 
ment and  cultivation.  Should  we  neglect  the  cul- 
tivation of  this  Spiritual  Sense  there  would  be 
lacking  something  to  the  complete  development  of 
our  soul -functions.  Our  life-duties  give  an  out- 
ward tendency  to  the  soul ;  they  withdraw  it  from 
its  inner  self  and  its  own  immediate  concerns. 
They  are  therefore  to  it  a  species  of  distraction. 
But  the  soul  has  an  inward  life ;  and  for  the  proper 
development  of  this  inward  life,  it  is  important 
that  it  enter  into  itself  and  cultivate  the  interior 
spirit. 

3.  This  is  the  function  of  the  Spiritual  Sense. 
Without  the  exercise  of  this  function  our  thinking 
were  incomplete.  It  is  an  incentive  to  higher  and 
superior  culture.  Would  you  know  why  it  is  that 


CULTURE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  SENSE       81 

the  religious  life  has  been  at  all  times  a  nursery 
for  learning  and  a  fountain  -  head  of  original 
thought  ?  Much  is  due  to  the  fact  that  scholars  and 
thinkers  have  instinctively  sought  therein  a  refuge 
from  the  noise  and  whirl  of  worldly  affairs.  But 
much  also  is  due  to  the  cultivation  of  the  Spiritual 
Sense.  It  enlarged  their  intellectual  horizon.  It 
threw  upon  things  an  additional  and  far-reaching 
light.  It  gave  those  men  a  favorable  vantage- 
ground  from  which  they  might  survey  deeds  and 
doers  of  deeds  with  unbiased  mind.  Sheltered 
in  the  sanctuary  of  religion,  away  from  the  storms 
of  political  strife  and  free  from  the  struggles  and 
anxieties,  "the  temptations  and  distractions  that 
beset  their  less  fortunate  brothers  battling  through 
the  turmoil  of  life,  their  souls  rested  in  a  peaceful 
calm  beneath  this  spiritual  sky  that  brought  joy 
and  contentment  to  their  hearts,  and  shed  upon 
them  a  light  which  beamed  forth  from  their  coun- 
tenances, even  as  it  enhanced  the  clearness  of  their 
intellectual  vision.  And  so,  when  they  looked  out 
upon  the  world  and  the  things  of  the  world,  they 
saw  more  distinctly  the  needs  and  wants  and  short- 
comings of  humanity,  and  were  the  first  to  apply 
the  remedy.  They  led  the  van  in  arts  and  letters, 
in  science  and  education,  and  in  all  that  goes  to 
make  up  a  people's  civilization.  With  no  slight 
reason,  then,  does  Renan  speak  of  monastic  insti- 
tutions as  a  great  school  of  originality  for  the 
human  mind.1  And  Ranke,  contemplating  the  un- 

1  Mais  il  est  certain  qu'en  perdant  les  institutions  de  la  vie  mo- 
nastique,  1'esprit  humain  a  perdu  une  grande  e*cole  d'originalite*.— 
Etudes  d'Histoire  Religieuse,  p.  336. 


82     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

broken  progress  of  intellectual  culture  that  had 
been  going  on  for  ages  within  the  bosom  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  hesitated  not  to  say:  "All  the 
vital  and  productive  energies  of  human  culture 
were  therein  united  and  mingled."1 

4.  We  have  nothing  to  fear  from  Religion. 
She  is  our  strength  and  our  support.  "The  splen- 
dor of  the  divine  truths  received  into  the  mind 
helps  the  understanding,  and  far  from  detracting 
from  its  dignity,  rather  adds  to  its  nobility,  keen- 
ness, and  stability."  So  speaks  His  Holiness,  Leo 
XIII.,  in  his  noble  vindication  of  Christian  phi- 
losophy.2 Such  is  also  the  experience  of  Maine 
de  Biran,  whom  Cousin  pronounces  the  greatest 
metaphysician  that  has  honored  France  since  Male- 
branche.3  His  testimony  is  all  the  more  valu- 
able because  it  is  the  outcome  of  long  and  circui- 
tous wanderings  through  the  mazes  of  philosophic 
errors,  with  here  and  there  a  glimpse  of  light,  till 
finally  in  his  mature  years,  after  much  groping  and 
great  toil,  the  full  splendor  of  truth  burst  upon 
him.  He  says :  "  Religion  alone  solves  the  prob- 
lems of  philosophy.  She  alone  tells  us  where  to 
find  truth,  absolute  reality.  Moreover,  she  shows 
us  that  we  live  in  a  perpetual  illusion  when  we 
estimate  things  by  the  testimony  of  the  senses, 
or  according  to  our  passions,  or  even  according  to 

1  History  of  the  Beformation  in  Germany,  vol.  i.  bk.  ii.  chap.  i. 
p.  251,  ed.  Austin. 

2  Encyclical  ^Eterni  Patris,  1879. 

8  Nouvelles  Considerations  sur  le  Rapport  du  Physique  et  du 
Moral.  Ouvrage  posthume  de  Maine  de  Biran,  Preface  de  M. 
Cousin,  p.  vi. 


CULTURE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  SENSE       83 

an  artificial  and  conventional  reason.  It  is  in 
raising  ourselves  up  to  God  and  seeking  union  with 
Him  by  his  grace,  that  we  see  and  appreciate 
things  as  they  are.  Certain  it  is  that  the  point 
of  view  of  the  senses  and  passions  is  not  at  all  that 
of  human  reason ;  still  less  is  it  that  of  the  supe- 
rior reason,  which,  strengthened  by  religion,  soars 
far  above  all  earthly  things."1  These  are  not 
the  words  of  a  cloistered  monk,  nor  of  a  religious 
teacher.  He  who  penned  them  had  been  a  materi- 
alist in  philosophy  and  a  worldling  in  practical  life, 
and  though  he  had  outgrown  his  materialism,  and 
cast  off  much  of  the  spirit  of  the  world,  still  at  the 
time  of  writing  them  he  did  not  acknowledge  him- 
self a  Christian.  They  are  his  inmost  convictions 
wrung  from  him  in  self-communion  by  the  spirit  of 
truth. 

III. 

1.  But  we  need  not  look  beyond  ourselves  for 
further  reason  why  we  should  cultivate  the  Spir- 
itual Sense.  Were  the  reader  a  young  man  stand- 
ing on  the  threshold  of  life  I  would  say  to  him : 
You  now  look  out  upon  the  world  decked  in  all  the 
roseate  hues  that  your  young  imagination  weaves ; 
your  fancy  filled  with  schemes  of  ambition;  bent 
upon  achieving  success  in  some  one  or  other  walk 
of  life,  you  are  eager,  even  to  impatience,  to  start 
out  in  your  course ;  and  you  may  think  it  a  loss  of 

1  Journal  Intime  Quoted  in  A.  Nicolas :  Etude  sur  Maine  de 
Biran  (Paris,  1858).  This  monograph  is  a  philosophical  gem, 
which  deserves  to  be  better  known. 


84     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

time,  a  diverting  you  from  your  main  purpose,  to 
enter  seriously  upon  the  cultivation  of  this  Spirit- 
ual Sense.  On  the  contrary,  you  will  find  in  it  a 
help.  The  present  is  only  a  passing  phase  of  your 
existence.  Youth  soon  fades  and  strength  decays ; 
and  as  shock  after  shock  in  your  struggle  through 
life  demolishes  one  after  another  the  air-castles 
which  you  so  long  and  so  laboriously  constructed, 
you  will  more  and  more  feel  the  necessity  of  ceas- 
ing to  lean  upon  broken  reeds  and  of  looking  within 
your  soul's  interior  for  an  abiding  comfort.  If 
you  find  there  but  emptiness,  even  as  you  have 
found  hollowness  and  deceit  without,  you  will  grow 
hardened  and  cynical.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
you  have  learned  to  commune  with  yourself  and  to 
make  your  soul's  interior  the  guest-chamber  in 
which  to  entertain  the  Divine  Word,  the  Emman- 
uel dwelling  within  you,  in  Him  you  will  find  re- 
newed strength  to  fight  your  battles  with  the  world, 
to  help  you  in  trouble,  to  soothe  you  in  pain,  and 
to  console  you  in  sorrow  and  affliction.  In  cul- 
tivating the  Spiritual  Sense  you  are  also  educating 
yourself  up  to  the  larger  views  of  life,  and  learn- 
ing the  great  lesson  of  patience  and  forbearance. 

2.  And  there  is  another  moment  —  a  supreme 
moment  —  when  the  language  of  the  soul,  the  sen- 
timent of  piety  and  relish  for  divine  things,  the 
habit  of  sweet  communion  with  your  Saviour,  will 
be  to  you  a  blessing  and  a  comfort.  It  is  when  you 
are  prostrate  on  the  pallet  of  sickness,  and  life  is 
ebbing  fast,  and  the  helpless  body  seems  to  be  sink- 
ing down  abysmal  depths  with  the  weight  of  its 


CULTURE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  SENSE       85 

own  inertness.  From  time  to  time  the  soul's  flick- 
ering flame  lights  up  into  a  sudden  blaze  of  con- 
sciousness and  animation,  as  if  wrestling  hard  to 
be  free.  Dear  friends  and  near  relatives  maybe 
there,  hovering  around  you,  ministering  to  your 
every  want  and  gratifying  your  least  desire.  But 
from  the  questioning  eyes  that  eagerly  scan  the 
face  of  your  physician,  and  the  anxious  glances 
that  are  cast  upon  you,  and  the  subdued  whisper- 
ings that  speak  the  worst  fears,  you  learn  that  you 
are  beyond  all  human  aid.  More  faintly  flickers 
the  vital  spark  and  weaker  grows  the  frame,  and 
loving  faces  gaze  upon  you  with  a  more  wistful 
look,  and  beloved  forms  pass  before  you  with  a 
more  stealthy  tread ;  but  they  are  to  you  as  though 
they  were  not.  Fainter  and  feebler  you  become, 
and  the  world  recedes  farther  and  farther  from 
you,  and  those  you  love  so  dearly  seem  afar  off, 
and  the  distance  between  you  and  them  grows 
more  and  more.  You  feel  yourself  sinking  into 
unconsciousness,  and  you  know  that  your  next  wak- 
ing will  be  in  another  world,  far  away  from  every- 
thing in  life  around  which  your  heartstrings  are 
entwined.  The  last  rites  of  the  Church  are  ad- 
ministered to  you,  and  as  your  senses  are  about 
shutting  out  forever  the  sights  and  sounds  of  this 
world,  you  catch,  as  the  echo  of  a  far-off  voice, 
the  words  of  the  priest,  "Go  forth,  O  Christian 
soul."  Happy  will  you  be  in  that  dread  hour, 
if,  when  you  appear  before  the  Divine  Searcher 
of  hearts,  the  pure  light  of  the  Word  penetrates 
no  corner  that  you  did  not  know,  and  reveals 


86     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

no  sin  that  has  not  been  repented  of  and  atoned 
for.  Thrice  happy  will  you  be  when  you  meet 
the  Divine  Presence  face  to  face,  if,  having  cul- 
tivated the  Spiritual  Sense  and  acquired  a  relish 
for  divine  truths,  you  find  that  you  are  familiar 
with  the  language  of  love  and  adoration,  of  praise 
and  thanksgiving,  which  should  be  yours  for  all 
eternity,  and  that  you  are  not  as  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land,  but  rather  as  a  child  welcomed  home 
to  his  Father's  House  after  a  life-long  exile.  Wise 
indeed  were  it  that  we  all  of  us  learn  in  time  this 
language  which  must  be  ours  throughout  eternity. 


IV. 

1.  There  are  two  manuals  of  instruction  and 
initiation  into  this  mystical  language  of  the  soul 
which  I  would  especially  recommend.  One  is  the 
Book  of  the  Gospels.  We  know  its  contents,  but 
we  ought  never  to  weary  of  its  perusal.  We  shall 
always  find  in  it  something  new.  It  treats  of  a 
subject  that  never  grows  old.  We  cannot  hear 
enough  of  Him,  the  Meek  One,  walking  among 
men  and  doing  good  wherever  He  went.  Let  us 
always  open  the  Book  reverently  and  lovingly,  and 
let  the  light  of  his  Blessed  Face  shine  out  upon  us 
from  its  inspired  pages.  Sweetly  and  simply  it 
traces  his  footsteps ;  in  loving  accents  it  recounts 
the  words  He  spoke,  the  deeds  He  did,  the  mira- 
cles He  wrought.  It  reveals  the  God-Man.  It 
tells  of  his  sufferings  from  the  manger  in  Beth- 
lehem to  the  cross  on  Calvary.  It  tells  of  his 


CULTURE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  SENSE       87 

patience  and  forbearance,  of  his  humility  and  mod- 
esty, of  his  compassion  for  sinners  and  his  hatred 
for  hypocrisy.  His  words  are  as  balm  to  the 
bruised,  rest  to  the  weary,  peace  to  the  restless,  joy 
to  the  sorrowing,  and  light  to  those  groping  in  the 
dark.  They  penetrate  all  hearts  because  they  flow 
from  a  heart  loving  man  with  an  untold  love. 
Our  familiarity  with  them  from  our  childhood  up 
may  lead  us  to  lose  sight  of  their  untold  worth. 
The  Sermon  on  the  Mount  embodies  all  that  there 
is  of  good  and  perfect  in  moral  thought,  moral 
word,  and  moral  work  in  the  whole  life  of  human- 
ity. The  sublimest  hymn  that  was  ever  poured 
forth  from  the  lips  of  man  in  prayer  and  the  praise 
of  his  Creator  is  the  Our  Father.  In  its  gran- 
deur it  rises  from  the  lowest  depths  of  man's  no- 
thingness to  the  throne  of  Infinite  Majesty;  in  its 
pathos  it  searches  the  heart,  touches  its  feebleness 
and  exposes  its  wants;  in  its  utterance  it  speaks 
with  the  simplicity  and  tenderness  of  a  child  lean- 
ing upon  a  fond  and  merciful  father.  It  is  at  once 
supplication,  exhortation,  instruction,  praise,  and 
worship.  I  might  go  on  enumerating  the  beauties 
and  sublimities  of  this  marvelous  Book  and  never 
tire,  never  get  done.  Its  beauty  is  untold;  its 
wisdom  is  unfathomable.  They  are  the  beauty 
and  the  wisdom  of  Him  who  is  the  ideal  of  all 
loveliness  and  the  source  of  all  wisdom. 

2.  That  other  book  which  I  would  recommend  to 
you  has  garnered  a  few  of  the  lessons  revealed  in 
these  Gospels  and  bound  them  together  in  rich  and 
ripe  sheaves  of  thought.  A  rare  harvesting  in- 


88     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

deed  is  this  book.  It  is  known  in  every  tongue  and 
its  praises  have  been  sung  in  every  note.  Next  to 
its  original  and  source  it  is  the  most  popular  book 
ever  written.  I  speak  of  "  The  Imitation  of  Christ, " 
which  Fontenelle  without  exaggeration  well  styles 
the  most  beautiful  book  that  ever  came  from  the 
hands  of  man.1  It  has  been  admired  by  all  classes 
of  thinkers  and  all  shades  of  creeds.  Doctor 
Johnson  loved  it  and  used  to  speak  of  it  as  a  good 
book,  to  receive  which  the  world  opened  its  arms.2 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  wept  over  it.3  John  Wes- 
ley published  an  edition  of  it  as  food  for  the  hun- 
gering souls  to  whom  he  ministered  in  the  Durham 
coal-pits  and  on  the  Devonshire  moors.  Bossuet 
called  it  a  volume  full  of  unction ;  St.  Charles  Bor- 
romeo,  the  world's  consoler;  and  blessed  Thomas 
More  said  that  the  book,  if  read,  would  secure  the 
nation's  happiness.  Surely,  a  book  receiving  praise 
from  so  many  and  such  diverse  sources  is  worthy 
of  our  intimate  acquaintance.  The  author  was 
Thomas  Hamerken,  of  Kempen,  commonly  known 
as  Thomas  a  Kempis  (1380-1471).  We  wiU  first 
consider  the  man  and  his  times ;  afterwards  we  will 
discuss  the  spirit,  the  philosophy,  and  the  influence 
of  the  book. 

1  Le  plus  beau  livre  qui  soit  parti  de  la  main  d'un  homme, 
puisque  1'Evangile  n'en  vient  pas. 

2  Boswell's  Johnson,  vol.  ii.  p.  143. 

8  Dublin  University  Magazine,  June,  1869. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SPIRITUAL   SENSE   OF   THE   IMITATION. 


1.  THE  century  in  which  Thomas  a  Kempis  saw 
the  light  was  the  transition  period  between  the 
mediaeval  and  the  modern  world.  The  Crusades  had 
done  their  work;  the  gothic  cathedral  had  been 
built ;  the  Miracle-Play  had  ceased  to  instruct  and 
edify ;  Thomas  of  Aquin  had  put  the  finishing  hand 
to  Scholastic  Philosophy,  and  left  it  a  scientific 
monument  worthy  of  his  genius  and  the  age ;  Dante 
had  crystallized  the  faith  and  science,  the  fierce 
hate  and  the  strong  love,  the  poetry,  the  politics, 
and  the  theology,  the  whole  spirit  of  medievalism 
in  his  sublime  allegory.  That  old  order  was 
breaking  up,  and  in  the  awakening  of  the  new 
much  anarchy  prevailed.  In  the  general  crumbling 
away  of  institutions  the  human  intellect  seemed 
bewildered.  A  groping  and  a  restlessness  existed 
throughout ;  there  was  a  yearning  of  men  after  they 
knew  not  what,  for  the  night  was  upon  them  and 
they  were  impatient  for  the  coming  of  the  dawn. 
Where  were  they  to  seek  the  light?  The  ignorant 
and  the  obstinate,  without  either  the  requisite 
knowledge  or  the  necessary  patience  to  discover  the 
laws  of  Nature,  sought  to  wrest  from  her  the  secrets 


90     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

of  which  she  is  possessed  by  the  process  of  magic, 
astrology,  and  simulated  intercourse  with  spirits.1 
Hecate  was  their  inspiring  genius. 

2.  The  learned  sought  the  light,  on  the  one  hand, 
through  the  mists  and  mazes  of  the  old  issue  of 
Nominalism  and  Realism,  which  had  been  revived 
by  William  of  Ockham  (d.  1347),  and  continued 
by  Jean  Buridan  (d.  after  1350),  Albert  of  Saxony 
(who  taught  at  Paris  about  1350-60),  Marsilius  of 
Inghen  (d.  1392),  and  the  zealous  Peter  of  Ailly 
(1350-1425).2  In  their  gropings  they  gathered 
up  little  more  than  an  abundance  of  error,  aridity, 
and  intellectual  pride.  Others,  following  in  the 
wake  of  Petrarca  and  Boccaccio,  began  to  cultivate 
an  exaggerated  taste  for  the  ancient  classics  and  to 
revive  the  spirit  of  paganism.  Children  were  in- 
structed in  Greek,3  and  the  pedantic  quarrels  of 
grammarians  divided  cities  and  even  whole  prov- 
inces.4 Others  again,  weary  of  the  barren  dispu- 
tations of  the  Schools,  sought  the  light  in  union 
with  the  Godhead  through  the  dark  and  unsafe 
paths  of  Mysticism.  Master  Eckhart  proclaimed 
it  their  goal  and  only  refuge.  He  undertook  to 
point  out  the  way,  but  became  lost  in  the  mazes 
of  neo-Platonism  and  Pantheism.  Under  his  in- 


1  See  Gb'rres,  La  Mystique,  trad.  par.  M.  Ch.  Ste-Foi.  partie  iii. 
La  Mystique  Diabolique,  t.  iv.  chap,  viii.,  xiv. 

2  Ueberweg,  History  of  Philosophy,  Eng.  tr.  vol.  i.  p.  465. 

8  Ambroise,  de  1'ordre  des  Camaldules,  au  commencement  de 
1400,  trouvait  dans  Mantoue  des  enfants  et  des  jeunes  filles  verse's 
dans  le  grec.  Cantu,  Histoire  Universelle,  t.  xii.  p.  578. 

4  Les  querelles  des  pe'dants  hargneux  inte'ressaient,  divisaient  les 
villes  et  les  provinces.  Ibid.  p.  589. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION       91 

fluence  whole  nations,  impelled  by  an  indefinite 
yearning  for  spiritual  life,  rose  up  as  one  man  in 
universal  clamor  for  mystical  union  with  the  God- 
head. They  became  intoxicated  with  the  New 
Science.  He  had  taught  them  that  the  creation  of 
the  world  and  the  generation  of  the  Word  were  one 
act ;  that  the  soul  preexisted  in  God  from  all  eter- 
nity; that  the  light  of  the  Word  was  inseparable 
from  the  light  of  the  soul,  and  that  in  union  with 
that  Word  were  to  be  found  perfection  and  know- 
ledge.1 

3.  Although  Eckhart  tried  to  hedge  in  these 
dangerous  tenets  with  various  safeguards  and  fine- 
spun distinctions,  the  people,  in  their  ignorance 
and  enthusiasm,  broke  loose  from  all  restraint  and 
fell  into  deplorable  disorders.  Large  numbers 
formed  themselves  into  societies  having  as  spiritual 
directors  laymen  who  claimed  to  be  initiated  into 
the  secrets  of  this  mystical  union  with  the  Godhead. 
This  was  a  condition  of  things  anomalous  as  it  was 
.dangerous.  Sometimes,  indeed,  under  this  lay- 
direction,  the  people  made  real  spiritual  progress,  as 
did  the  society  known  as  the  Friends  of  God  under 
the  guidance  of  that  mysterious  layman  who  so 

1  "The  Light,  which  is  the  Son  of  God,  and  the  shining  —  das 
Ausscheinen  —  of  that  light  in  the  creature-world  are  inseparable. 
The  Birth  of  the  Son  and  the  Creation  of  the  world  are  one  act." 
Stockl,  Geschichte  der  Philosophic,  §  III.,  6,  p.  494.  Also  10, 
p.  495.  "The  soul,  like  all  things,  preexisted  in  God.  .  .  .  Im- 
manent in  the  Divine  Essence,  I  created  the  world  and  myself." 
Ueberweg,  History  of  Philosophy,  vol.  i.  §  106,  in  which  Eckhart's 
teaching  is  accounted  for  at  length  by  Dr.  Adolf  Lasson.  The 
article  in  Stockl  is  far  more  satisfactory. 


92     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

successfully  led  the  celebrated  Tauler  into  the  way 
of  this  mystical  life.1  More  frequently,  they  went 
beyond  all  control  and  became  mere  fanatics,  as  the 
Beguines  and  Begards.2  Tauler  (1290-1361)  took 
the  yearning  multitude  by  the  hand  and  led  them 
in  the  path  which  he  had  trodden.  So  powerful 
was  his  eloquence  and  so  great  the  influence  that  he 
wielded,  that  even  at  this  day  his  name  is  a  magic 
wand,  capable  of  stirring  the  hearts  of  the  descend- 
ants of  the  thousands  along  the  Rhine  who  clung 
upon  his  lips  and  eagerly  fed  their  hungering  souls 
with  the  words  of  life  that  fell  from  them.  And 
whilst  the  rugged  earnestness  of  Tauler  pierced  their 
hearts,  the  gentle  suavity  of  Heinrich  Suso  (1300- 
1365),  the  minnesinger  of  the  love  of  God,  swayed 
them  with  no  less  force  and  helped  to  dissipate  the 
atmosphere  of  false  mysticism  and  erroneous  doc- 
trines in  which  they  were  enveloped. 

n. 

1.  To  this  extent  had  Mysticism  become  a  pas- 
sion, when  Gerhard  Groote  established  the  Bre- 
thren of  the  Common  Life.  The  mystical  spirit 
entered  into  their  rule  of  living,  but  in  so  new  and 

1  See  Life  of  Tauler,  prefixed  to  his  Sermons,  edited  and  trans- 
lated into  French  by  M.  Ch.  Ste-Foi  (Paris,  1855),  vol.  i.  p.  7  et 
seq. 

2  When  the  organization  was  dissolved  by  Pope  John  XXII.  it 
numbered  more  than  three  hundred  thousand  in  Germany  alone. 
Gb'rres,  La  Mystique,  t.  i.  p.  131.     They  were  so  called  from  their 
institutor,  Lambert  Begha,  who  established  the  organization  in 
1170. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION      93 

practical  a  form  that  they  become  known  as  Bre- 
thren of  the  New  Devotion.  It  pervaded  the  books 
they  wrote ;  its  spirit  was  in  the  very  atmosphere  of 
their  schools.  The  children  attending  them  were 
imbued  with  it.  Amongst  those  children  was 
Thomas  a  Kempis.  He  afterwards  became  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Order,  was  ordained  priest,  and  lived  to 
the  advanced  age  of  ninety -one  years.  We  read 
nothing  eventful  in  his  life.  Like  the  Venerable 
Beda,  from  his  youth  up  he  had  borne  the  sweet 
yoke  of  religion.  Like  Beda,  also,  it  had  been  a 
pleasure  for  him  to  read  and  teach  and  write  and 
transcribe  what  he  found  best  in  sacred  and  pro- 
fane literature.  In  order  that  the  intellect  might 
not  grow  barren  in  the  mechanical  exercise  of 
transcribing  the  thoughts  of  others,  it  was  made 
a  rule  that  the  Brothers  should  cull,  each  for  him- 
self and  according  to  his  taste,  some  of  the  beau- 
tiful sayings  and  maxims  of  the  Fathers  and 
saints,  and  add  thereto  pious  reflections.1  This 
was  a  labor  of  love  for  Thomas,  and  in  perform- 
ing it  he  was  sowing  and  fertilizing  the  seeds  of 
that  special  book  that  was  to  be  the  child  of  his 
genius. 

2.  Another  source  of  inspiration  for  that  book 
was  the  beautiful  example  of  his  brethren.  His 
convent  was  a  spiritual  garden  in  which  were 
tended  with  great  care  all  the  virtues  of  the  reli- 
gious life.  He  needed  only  to  remember  and  record. 
Not  only  in  his  great  work,  but  in  the  numerous 
lives  of  the  brethren  that  he  has  left  us,  he  never 

1  These  collections  were  called  Rapiaria.  " 


94     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

tires  of  expressing  his  appreciation  of  their  devo- 
tion, regularity,  and  spirit  of  faith.  And  they 
were  equally  edified  by  his  amiable  character  and 
great  humility.  They  held  him  in  honor  and  es- 
teem, and  his  influence  amongst  them  was  great.1 
One  of  the  brethren  remembers,  as  an  event  in  his 
life,  how  he  had  seen  him  and  spoken  with  him : 
"The  Brother  who  wrote  '  The  Imitation  '  is  called 
Thomas.  .  .  .  This  writer  was  living  in  1454,  and 
I,  Brother  Hermann,  having  been  sent  to  the  gen- 
eral chapter  in  that  year,  spoke  with  him."2  Nor 
was  he  less  appreciated  outside  his  convent  walls. 
The  Cistercian  monk  Adrian  de  But  stops  the 
chronicle  of  political  events  to  say  how  he  edified 
by  his  writings,  especially  his  masterpiece,  which 
the  good  monk  not  inappropriately  styles  "a  metri- 
cal volume."3  His  fame  has  continued  to  grow 
broader,  ripple  after  ripple,  till  it  fills  the  whole 

1  Among  the  small  and  peaceful  circle  of  the  religious  Mystics, 
no  man  exercised  so  important  an  influence  as  Thomas  Hamerken, 
of  Kempen.     Gieseler,  Compend.  Eccl.  History,  v  p.  73. 

2  Mgr.  J.  B.  Malou,  Becherches  sur  le  veritable  auteur  de  limita- 
tion, p.  82. 

3  Hoc  anno  frater  Thomas  a  Kempis,  de  Monte  Sanctae  Agnetis 
professor  ordinis   regularium   canonicorum,   multos  scriptis   suis 
divulgatis,    zedificat:    hie   vitam   Sanctae    Lidwigis   descripsit   et 
quoddam  volumen  metrice  super  illud,  Qui  sequitur  me.     Chroniques 
relatives  a  Vhistoire  de  la  Belgique,  publie"es  par  M.  le  Baron  Ker- 
vyn  de  Lettenhove,  t.  i.     The  Imitation  as  written  by  a  Kempis  is 
both   metrical   and  rhythmical.     This  is   the   conclusion  of   Dr. 
Hirsche  after  long  and  careful  study  of  the  original  MS.     ( Thomce 
Kempensis  de  Imitatione    Christi.     Berolini,  1874.     Prefatio,  pp. 
xiv,  xv.)     Henry  Sommalius,  in  1599,  first  divided  each  chapter 
into  paragraphs,  and  in  the  seventeenth  century  several  editors 
subdivided  the  paragraphs  into  versicles. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    95 

world.  And  yet,  when  living,  he  shrank  from  no- 
toriety; he  loved  retirement;  he  dreaded  gossip.1 
On,  on,  through  the  years  of  his  long  life,  through 
the  vigor  of  youth,  through  the  maturity  of  man- 
hood, through  the  gathering  shadows  of  old  age,  he 
plied  his  pen  and  scattered  broadcast  devout  books. 
Let  us  approach  still  nearer. 

18.  Figure  to  yourself  a  man  of  medium  height,2 
rather  stout  in  body,  with  forehead  broad,  and 
a  strong  Flemish  cast  of  features,  massive  and 
thoughtful,  bespeaking  a  man  of  meditative  hab- 
its; his  cheeks  tinged  slightly  brown;  his  large 
and  lustrous  eyes  looking  with  a  grave  and  far-off 
look,  as  though  gazing  into  the  world  of  spiritual 
life  in  which  his  soul  dwelt.  This  is  Thomas 
a  Kempis  as  he  appeared  to  his  contemporaries. 
Still  another  glimpse  of  him,  as  he  walks  and 
speaks  with  his  brethren,  has  been  sketched  with 
a  loving  hand:  "This  good  Father,  when  he  was 
walking  abroad  with  some  of  the  Brotherhood,  or 
with  some  of  his  other  friends,  and  suddenly  felt 
an  inspiration  come  upon  him  —  namely,  when  the 
Bridegroom  was  willing  to  communicate  with  the 
bride,  that  is,  when  Jesus  Christ,  his  Beloved,  did 
call  to  his  soul  as  His  elect  and  beloved  spouse  — 

1  "Valde  devotus,  libenter  solus,  et  nunquam  otiosus."  MS. 
\  1,841,  Bibl.  de  Bourgogne,  Brussels,  printed  for  the  first  time  in 
Appendix  to  Recherches  sur  le  veritable  auteur  de  I' *  Imitation,  par 
Mgr.  J.  B.  Malou,  deuxieme  ed.  p.  388. 

'2  "  Hie  fuit  brevis  staturae,  sed  magnus  in  virtutibus."  Ibid. 
From  a  measurement  of  the  thigh-bone,  Dr.  F.  R.  Cruise  of  Dub- 
lin calculated  the  height  of  Thomas  a  Kempis  to  be  at  least  five 
feet  six  inches.  Thomas  d,  Kempis,  pp.  306,  324,  325. 


96     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

was  wont  to  say,  4My  beloved  brethren,  I  must 
now  needs  leave  you,'  and  meekly  begging  to  be 
excused,  he  would  leave  them,  saying,  'Indeed,  it 
behooves  me  to  go;  there  is  One  expecting  me  in 
my  cell. '  They  accordingly  granted  his  request, 
took  well  his  excuse,  and  were  much  edified  there- 
by." l  In  this  reverential  manner  was  his  mem- 
ory cherished.  We  are  not  surprised  to  learn 
that  a  great  many,  being  attracted  by  his  reputa- 
tion for  science  and  sanctity,  flocked  around  him, 
to  cultivate  his  acquaintance  and  to  pursue  their 
studies  under  his  guidance.2 

4.  What  was  the  inner  life  of  this  attractive 
soul?  What  were  the  trials,  the  struggles  with 
self,  the  temptations  through  which  he  passed? 
Surely,  he  who  is  both  philosopher  and  poet  of  the 
interior  life  in  all  its  phases  must  have  traversed 
the  rugged  path  leading  up  to  perfection  with  an 
observant  eye  for  all  the  dangerous  turns  and 
treacherous  pitfalls  that  lurk  on  the  way.  Above 
all,  he  must  have  loved  much.  "The  passion," 
says  Michelet,  "which  we  meet  in  this  work  is 
grand  as  the  object  which  it  seeks ;  grand  as  the 
world  which  it  forsakes."  And  in  this  love  he 
found  strength  if)  overcome  every  obstacle.  In 
another  work  he  thus  lays  bare  his  soul :  "  Some- 

1  Opera  Omnia  Th.  de  Kempis.     Ed.  Georg  Pirckhamer.   Nurem- 
berg,   1494,  fol.    xxxv.      Kettlewell,    Thomas  a  Kempis   and  the 
Brethren  of  the  Common  Life,  vol.  i.  p.  33.     Mgr.  Malou,  Re- 
cherches,  p.  84. 

2  Hardenberg,   M8.  Life   of  Wessel,  a  disciple  of  Thomas  a 
Kempis.     Quoted  by  Ullmann,  Reformatoren  vor  der  Reformation, 
bd.  ii.  p.  738,  Eng.  tr.  vol.  ii.  p.  271. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION     97 

times  my  passions  assailed  me  as  a  whirlwind; 
but  God  sent  forth  his  arrows  and  dissipated 
them.  The  attack  was  often  renewed,  but  God 
was  still  my  support." l  And  in  his  great  book  he 
occasionally  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  himself.  Thus 
we  see  him  at  the  beginning  of  his  religious  ca- 
reer in  great  mental  anxiety  as  to  whether  or  no 
he  will  persevere.  "He  presently  heard  within 
him  an  answer  from  God,  which  said,  'If  thou 
didst  know  it,  what  wouldst  thou  do?  Do 
now  what  thou  wouldst  do  then,  and  thou  shalt 
be  secure.'  And  being  herewith  comforted  and 
strengthened,  he  committed  himself  wholly  to  the 
will  of  God,  and  his  anxious  wavering  ceased."2 
In  another  place  3  we  find  him  sending  up  cries  for 
strength  and  resignation,  such  as  could  only  come 
from  a  heart  bleeding  and  lacerated  with  wounds 
inflicted  by  calumny  and  humiliation.4  But  it  is 
only  a  soul  that  rose  above  the  spites  and  jealousies 
of  life  that  could  speak  the  words  of  comfort  and 
consolation  therein  to  be  found.  "Verily,"  hath 
it  been  beautifully  said,  "only  a  breast  burning 
with  pity  —  a  breast  that  hath  never  wounded  an- 
other breast  —  could  have  offered  that  incense  to 
heaven,  that  dew  to  earth,  which  we  call  'The  Im- 
itation. '  "  6  Such  was  the  author.  He  had  learned 
to  repress  every  inordinate  desire  or  emotion,  until 

1  Soliloquy  of  the  Soul.    See  chaps,  xv.,  xvi.,  xvii. 

2  Bk.  i.  chap.  xxv.  2. 
8  Bk.  iii.  chap.  xxix. 

4  Charles  Butler,  Life  prefixed  to  Bishop  Challoner's  transla- 
tion of  The  Imitation,  p.  vii. 
*  William  Maccoll  in  Contemporary  Review,  September,  1866. 


98     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

in  his  old  age  he  was  content  with  solitude  and  a 
book.  "I  have  sought  rest  everywhere,"  was  he 
wont  to  say,  "but  I  have  found  it  nowhere  except 
in  a  little  corner  with  a  Jittle  book." l 


in. 

1.  It  is  interesting  to  study  the  literary  structure 
of  "The  Imitation,"  and  note  the  traces  of  author- 
ship running  through  it.  We  will  glance  at  it  for 
a  moment.  First  of  all  and  above  all,  the  book 
is  saturated  through  and  through  with  the  sacred 
Scriptures.  You  can  scarcely  read  a  sentence  that 
does  not  recall  some  passage  now  in  the  Old,  now 
in  the  New  Testament.  It  reflects  their  pure  rays 
like  an  unbroken  mirror.  To  transcribe  the  Bible 
had  been  a  labor  of  love  for  the  author.  Echoes 
of  beautiful  passages  from  the  spiritual  writers  that 
went  before  him  reverberate  through  the  pages  of 
this  book  which  is  none  the  less  original.  The 
author  drew  from  St.  Gregory  the  Great.2  St. 
Bernard  seems  to  have  been  a  special  favorite.3 
So  was  St.  Francis  of  Assisi.4  He  drew  from  St. 

1  Charles  Butler,  loc.  cit.  p.  viii.     These  words  are  inscribed  on 
the  pages  of  an  open  book  represented  in  the  Gertruidenberg  por- 
trait of  the  author.     Dr.  Criuse  has  an  autotype  copy  of  this  por- 
trait in  his  valuable  and  scholarly  book. 

2  Cf.   Gregory,   Cura    Pastoralis,    and   The   Imitation,  bk.  iv. 
chap.  v. 

3  Cf.  the  hymn  Jesu,  dulcis  memoria,  and  bk.  ii.  chaps,  vii,  viii. 
For  numerous  other  instances  of  passages  from  St.  Bernard  cor- 
responding with  sentences  in  The  Imitation,  see  Thomas  ft  Kempis, 
by  F.  R  Cruise,  M.  D.,  pp.  314-20. 

4  Cf.  Epist.  xl.,  and  bk.  iii.  chap.  1.  8. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    99 

Thomas ; 1  he  drew  from  St.  Bonaventura ; 2  he 
even  drew  from  the  Roman  Missal.3  He  also  laid 
the  pagan  classics  under  contribution.  He  quotes 
Aristotle;4  he  quotes  Ovid;5  he  quotes  Seneca,6 
and  there  are  some  remarkable  coincidences  in  ex- 
pression between  himself  and  Dante.7  He  even 
juotes  the  popular  sayings  of  his  day.8  The  poem 
of  the  "Holy  Grail  "  was  not  unknown  to  him.9  In 
u  word,  as  with  the  poet,  whatever  love  inspired, 
no  matter  the  speech  in  which  the  voice  came,  he 
wrote  at  her  dictation.10 

2.  In  both  language  and  spirit  the  book  exhales 
the  atmosphere  of  Mysticism  in  which  it  was  con- 

1  Cf.  Office  for   Corpus  Christi,  and  bk.  iv.  chap.  ii.   1 ;  also 
chap.  xiii.  2,  17. 

2  Cf .  the  hymn  Eecordare  Sanctce  Crucis  and  bk.  ii.  chap.  xii.  2. 
The  Toulouse  Sermons  attributed  to  St.  Bonaventura,  having  many 
extracts  from  The  Imitation,  are  no  longer  regarded  as  authen- 
tic.   See  Mgr.  Malou,  Recherches  sur  le  veritable  auteur  de  limita- 
tion, pp.  198-202. 

8  Cf.  Prayer  for  Fifteenth  Sunday  after  Pentecost,  and  bk.  iii. 
c  Iv.  6  ;  Post.  Com.  Fourth  Sunday  in  Advent,  and  bk.  iv.  chap.  iv. 
4  Aristotle,  Metaphysics,  i.  1,  in  bk.  i.  chap.  ii.  1. 
6  Ovid,  lib.  xiii.  de  Itemed.  Am.  in  bk.  i.  chap.  xiii.  5. 

6  Seneca,  Ep.  vii.  in  bk.  i.  chap.  xx.  2. 

7  Cf .  Dante,  Inferno,  canto  iii.  and  canto  vi.  with  bk.  i.  chap, 
xxiv. 

8  Bk.  ii.  chap.  ix.  1.     The  expression  is:  — 

"  Satis  suaviter  equitat, 
Quern  gratia  Dei  portat." 

9  Cf.  in   Le  Saint-Graal  (Les  Romans  de  la  Table  ronde,  ed. 
Paulin  Paris,  t.  i.  pp.  17&-189)  the  consecration  of  Joseph  as  priest, 
and  bk.  iv.  chap.  v. 

10  lo  mi  son.  un  che,  quando 

Amore  spira,  noto  ed  a  quel  modo 
Che  detta  dentro,  vo  significando. 

DANTE,  Purgatorio,  xxiv.  52-54. 


100    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

ceived  and  written.  Its  very  terms  are  the  terms 
of  Mysticism.  And  if  we  would  understand  the 
book  thoroughly  we  must  make  tangible  to  our- 
selves this  mystical  state.  In  the  human  soul 
there  is  and  has  been  at  all  times  a  strong  and 
irrepressible  yearning  after  the  higher  spiritual 
things  of  the  unseen  Universe.  It  is  not  given  to 
all  to  attain  its  dizziest  heights.  It  may  not  even 
be  well  for  all  to  aim  thereat.  But  it  is  something 
to  be  proud  of,  to  know  that  our  humanity  has 
reached  that  state  in  its  elect  few.  And  what  is  the 
mystical  state?  It  is  a  striving  of  the  soul  after 
union  with  the  Divinity.  It  is  therefore  a  turning 
away  from  sin  and  all  that  could  lead  to  sin,  and 
a  raising  up  of  the  soul  above  all  created  things, 
"transcending  every  ascent  of  every  holy  height, 
and  leaving  behind  all  divine  lights  and  sounds 
and  heavenly  discour sings,  and  passing  into  that 
Darkness  where  He  is  who  is  above  all  things."1 

3.  In  this  state  the  soul  is  passively  conscious 
that  she  lives  and  breathes  in  the  Godhead,  and 
asks  neither  to  speak  nor  think.  Her  whole  hap- 
piness is  to  be.  She  has  found  absolute  Goodness, 
absolute  Truth,  and  absolute  Beauty ;  she  knows  it 
and  feels  it  and  rests  content  in  the  knowledge. 
She  seeks  nothing  beyond.  She  has  left  far  be- 
hind her  all  practical  and  speculative  habits.  Her 
faculties  are  hushed  in  holy  awe  at  the  nearness 
of  the  Divine  Presence.2  Memory  has  ceased  to 

1  Dionysius  Areopagita,  De  Mystica  Theologia,  cap.  i.  §  3,  t.  i. 
col.  999.       Patrol.  Grcecce,  ed.  Mig-ne,  t.  iii. 

2  See  Tauler.     Sermon  for  the  Sunday  after  Epiphany;  trad. 
Ste-Foi.  t.  i.  p.  130. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    101 

minister  to  her ;  Fancy  and  Imagination  walk  at  a 
distance  and  in  silence,  fearing  to  obtrude  them- 
selves upon  the  Unimagined  Infinite;  Reason  is 
prostrate  and  abashed  before  the  Incomprehensi- 
ble; Understanding  remains  lulled  in  adoration 
before  the  Unknowable.  She  is  overshadowed  by 
the  intense  splendor  of  the  Divine  Glory,  and  fjlled 
—  thrilled  through  and  through  —  with  the  dread 
Presence,  she  is  raised  above  the  plane  of  our  com- 
mon human  feelings  and  sympathies  into  the  high- 
est sphere  of  thought  and  love  and  adoration  at- 
tainable in  this  life,  and  is  thus  given  a  foretaste 
of  heaven.  The  soul  apprehends  with  clearness 
mysteries  that  are  entirely  beyond  her  ordinary 
power  of  conception.  Such  was  the  experience  of 
a  Francis  of  Assisi,  a  Heinrich  Suso,  a  Tauler,  a 
Loyola,  a  Theresa  of  Jesus.  But  this  experience 
became  theirs  only  after  they  had  passed  through 
much  tribulation  of  spirit  and  their  souls  had  been 
purified;  for  it  is  only  to  the  clean  of  heart  that 
it  is  given  to  become  intimately  united  with  God 
in  this  manner. 

4.  Men  of  proud  thought  and  vain  desire  have 
attempted  without  the  requisite  purification  to  at- 
tain that  state ;  but  invariably  they  became  lost  in 
illusions,  were  confounded,  and  fell  into  the  deepest 
follies.  Therefore  it  is  that  this  union  is  safely 
sought  only  through  the  Redeemer.  And  so,  the 
writings  attributed  to  the  Areopagite  make  the 
Chalice  of  the  Redeemer  the  central  point  of  all 
Christian  mysteries;  the  Chalice  being  according 
to  them  the  symbol  of  Providence  which  pene- 


102    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

trates  and  preserves  all  things.1  This  symbol 
passes  down  the  ages,  gathering  around  it  feats 
of  chivalry  and  love  and  bravery,  —  adventure 
and  prowess  which  are  also  symbolic,  —  and  men 
speak  of  it  as  the  Holy  Grail,  which  only  such  as 
the  suffering  Tituriel  and  the  pure  Galahad  are 
permitted  to  behold.2  What  is  it  all  but  a  beauti- 
ful allegory  typifying  the  struggles  of  the  devout 
soul  before  it  is  permitted  to  commune  with  God  in 
this  mystical  union  ? 

IV. 

1.  Thomas  a  Kempis  knows  no  other  way  by 
which  to  lead  the  Christian  soul  to  the  heights  of 
perfection  and  union  with  the  Divinity  than  the 
rugged  road  trodden  by  Jesus.  The  opening  words 
of  "The  Imitation"  strike  the  keynote  with  no 
uncertain  tone :  " '  He  that  f  olloweth  me  walketh 
not  in  darkness, '  3  saith  the  Lord.  These  are  the 
words  of  Christ,  by  which  we  are  taught  to  imitate 
his  life  and  manners,  if  we  would  be  truly  enlight- 
ened and  be  delivered  from  all  blindness  of  heart. 
.  .  .  Whosoever  would  fully  and  feelingly  under- 
stand the  words  of  Christ  must  endeavor  to  con- 
form his  life  wholly  to  the  life  of  Christ."  4  In  this 

1  Crater  igitur  cum  sit  rotundus  et  apertus,  symbolum  est  gene- 
ralis  providentiae  quse  principle  fineque  caret  atque  omnia  continet 
penetratque.  Dion.  Areop.  Ep.  ix.  Tito  Episcopo,  §  iii.  col.  1110. 
Patrol.  Grcecce,  ed.  Migne.  t.  iii. 

'2  The  symbol  of  the  Chalice  is  older  than  Christianity.  It  was 
adopted  from  the  Dionysian  mysteries  of  the  Greeks  and  given  a 
Christian  meaning.  See  Gorres,  La  Mystique,  tip.  78. 

8  John  viii.  12.  4  Bk  i  chap.  j.  ^  2. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    103 

manner  does  the  author  give  us  purely  and  simply, 
without  gloss  or  comment,  the  spirituality  of  the 
gospel.  He  does  not  flatter  human  nature.  He 
merely  points  out  the  narrow  and  rugged  road  to 
Calvary.  The  "royal  way  of  the  holy  Cross"  is 
the  only  safe  way:  "Go  where  thou  wilt,  seek 
whatsoever  thou  wilt,  thou  shalt  not  find  a  higher 
way  above,  nor  a  safer  way  below,  than  the  way 
of  the  holy  Cross."1  The  pious  author,  in  des- 
canting on  the  merits  of  the  Cross,  becomes  truly 
poetical:  "In  the  Cross  is  salvation;  in  the  Cross 
is  life ;  in  the  Cross  is  protection  against  our  ene- 
mies; in  the  Cross  is  infusion  of  heavenly  sweet- 
ness ;  in  the  Cross  is  strength  of  mind ;  in  the  Cross 
is  joy  of  spirit;  in  the  Cross  is  the  height  of  virtue; 
in  the  Cross  is  the  perfection  of  sanctity.  There 
is  no  salvation  of  the  soul,  no  hope  of  everlasting 
life,  but  in  the  Cross.  Take  up  therefore  thy 
Cross  and  follow  Jesus  and  thou  shalt  go  into  life 
everlasting."  2  Thus  it  is  that  in  the  language  of 
a  Kempis  the  Cross  symbolizes  all  Christian  virtue  ; 
and  bearing  one's  trials  and  troubles  with  patience 
and  resignation  is  walking  on  the  royal  road  of  the 
Cross.  It  supersedes  the  symbol  of  the  Chalice. 

2.  For  the  student  "The  Imitation"  is  laden 
with  beautiful  lessons.  Thomas  a  Kempis  must 
have  had  his  own  scholars  in  his  mind's  eye  in  pen- 
ning many  a  passage.  He  never  tires  of  recalling 
to  them  that  there  is  something  better  than  vain 
words  and  dry  disputations.  "  Surely  great  words 
do  not  make  a  man  holy  and  just.3  .  .  .  Many 

1  Bk.  ii.  chap.  xii.  2  Ibid.  8  Bk.  i.  chap.  i.  3. 


104    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

words  do  not  satisfy  the  soul.1  .  .  .  Meddle  not 
with  things  too  high  for  thee ;  but  read  such  things 
as  may  rather  yield  compunction  to  thy  heart,  than 
occupation  to  thy  head."2  He  distinguishes  be- 
tween the  reading  that  goes  home  to  the  heart  and 
that  which  is  merely  a  matter  of  occupation.  The 
distinction  is  important.  One  to  whom  we  havn 
been  already  introduced  draws  the  same  line.  No- 
tice how  closely  the  philosopher  and  man  of  the 
world,  writing  four  centuries  after,  coincides  with 
the  monk.  "I  am,"  says  Maine  de  Biran,  "as 
agitated  by  my  books  and  my  own  ideas,  as  when 
occupied  with  worldly  matters  or  launched  in  the 
vortex  of  Parisian  life.  ...  I  fancy  that  I  am 
going  to  discover  my  moral  and  intellectual  wel- 
fare, rest  and  internal  satisfaction  of  mind,  the 
truth  I  seek,  in  every  book  that  I  scan  and  con- 
sult; as  though  these  things  were  not  within  me, 
down  in  the  very  depths  of  my  being,  where 
with  sustained  and  penetrating  glance  I  should 
look  for  them,  instead  of  gliding  rapidly  over 
what  others  have  thought,  or  even  what  I  my- 
self have  thought.  .  .  .  My  conscience  reproaches 
me  with  not  having  thoroughly  sounded  the  depths 
of  life,  with  not  having  cultivated  its  most  earnest 
parts,  and  with  being  too  occupied  with  those 
amusements  that  enable  one  to  pass  imperceptibly 
from  time  to  eternity."3  In  good  truth,  men  may 
go  through  life  discoursing  upon  the  things  of  life, 

1  Ibid.  chap.  ii.  2.  2  Ibid.  chap.  xx.  1. 

8  Journal  Intime.     Apud  Nicolas.     Etude  sur  Maine  do  Biran, 
p.  54. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    105 

formulating  their  views  of  the  diverse  subjects  that 
call  for  definite  opinion ;  and  yet,  for  want  of  this 
introspection,  this  self  -  communion,  this  thought- 
fulness  of  God's  presence  within  them,  they  may 
indeed  possess  many  and  varied  accomplishments, 
but  these  are  all  of  the  outward  man.  The  inner 
man  is  starved  to  a  skeleton.  This  is  why  all  great 
thinkers,  all  the  founders  of  religious  orders  as  well 
as  of  schools  of  philosophy,  Pythagoras  and  Socrates 
as  well  as  Benedict  and  Loyola,  have  laid  stress 
upon  the  cultivation  of  this  interior  spirit.  It  is  not 
merely  the  opinion  of  a  devout  writer ;  it  is  the  doc- 
trine of  the  gospel,  made  the  wisdom  of  humanity. 
3.  Again,  the  author  lays  down  the  conditions 
under  which  study  may  be  pursued  with  advantage. 
He  shows  the  greater  responsibility  attached  to 
human  knowledge,  and  counsels  the  students  to  be 
humble.  "  The  more  thou  knowest,  and  the  better 
thou  understandest,  the  more  strictly  shalt  thou  be 
judged,  unless  thy  life  be  also  the  more  holy.  Be 
not  therefore  elated  in  thine  own  mind  because  of 
any  art  or  science,  but  rather  let  the  knowledge 
given  thee  make  thee  afraid.  If  thou  thinkest  that 
thou  understandest  and  knowest  much,  yet  know 
that  there  be  many  more  things  which  thou  know- 
est not."1  Bear  in  mind  that  the  author  is  not 
simply  inculcating  the  modesty  and  diffidence  that 
belong  to  every  well-educated  person,  and  tint 
may  accompany  great  intellectual  pride.  He  goes 
deeper,  and  insists  upon  true  humility:2  "If  thou 

1  Bk.  i.  chap.  ii.  3. 

2  Cardinal  Newman,  in  one  of  his  most  beautiful  discourses, 


106    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

wilt  know  and  learn  anything  profitably,  desire  to 
be  unknown  and  little  esteemed.  This  is  the  high- 
est and  most  profitable  lesson :  truly  to  know  and 
despise  ourselves."  1 

4.  The  author  is  no  less  earnest  in  counseling 
the  student  to  be  simple  and  pure.  "By  two 
wings  a  man  is  lifted  up  from  things  earthly; 
namely,  by  Simplicity  and  Purity.  Simplicity 
ought  to  be  in  our  intention ;  Purity  in  our  affec- 
tions. Simplicity  doth  tend  towards  God;  Purity 
doth  apprehend  and  taste  Him.  ...  If  thy  heart 
were  sincere  and  upright,  then  would  every  creature 
be  unto  thee  a  living  mirror,  and  a  book  of  holy 
doctrine.  There  is  no  creature  so  small  and  abject, 
that  it  representeth  not  the  goodness  of  God.  If 
thou  wert  inwardly  good  and  pure,  then  wouldst 
thou  be  able  to  see  and  understand  all  things  well 
without  impediment.  A  pure  heart  penetrateth 
heaven  and  hell."2  Doctrine  as  beautiful  as  it  is 
true.  Only  to  the  clean  of  heart  is  it  given  to  see 
God  in  heaven.  Only  to  the  clean  of  heart  is  it 
also  given  to  recognize  the  splendor  of  God's  glory 
in  the  beautiful  things  that  He  has  created.  The 
poetry  and  chivalry  of  the  Middle  Ages  vie  with 
each  other  in  extolling  this  pearl  among  the  virtues. 
Perci vale's  purity  of  heart  wins  for  him  the  rare 
privilege  of  beholding  the  Holy  Grail.  Lancelot 

shows  how  modesty  accompanied  by  pride  has  taken  the  place  of 
the  Christian  virtue  of  humility  in  the  modern  world.  Idea  of  a 
University,  Discourse  viii.  §  9,  pp.  254-258. 

1  Bk.  i.  chap.  ii.  3,  4. 

2  Bk.  ii.  chap.  iv.  2,  3. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    107 

fails  in  his  quest  because  of  his  sin.  Galahad's 
virgin  heart  makes  him  tenfold  strong  against  his 
foes : — 

"  My  good  blade  carves  the  casques  of  men, 

My  tough  lance  thrusteth  sure, 
My  strength  is  as  the  strength  of  ten, 
Because  my  heart  is  pure.'1'' 1 


V. 

1.  The  philosophy  of  "The  Imitation  "  may  be 
summed  up  in  two  words.  It  is  a  philosophy  of 
Light  and  a  philosophy  of  Life :  the  Light  of  Truth 
and  the  Life  of  Grace.  Both  the  one  and  the  other 
a  Kempis  seeks  in  their  source  and  fountain-head. 
He  does  not  separate  them.  It  is  only  in  the  union 
of  both  that  man  attains  his  philosophic  ideal. 
Vain  words  and  dry  speculations,  scholastic  wrang- 
ling and  religious  controversy,  may  furnish  food 
for  man's  vanity,  but  they  are  unable  to  nourish 
his  soul.  And  so,  the  devout  author,  with  Clement 
of  Alexandria,  with  Augustin  and  Aquinas,  as- 
cends to  the  Incarnate  Word  —  the  Divine  Logos 
—  as  the  source  whence  proceeds  all  truth  both 
natural  and  revealed,  for  the  criterion  and  the  ideal 
of  human  knowledge.  Here  he  finds  unity  and 
harmony.  And  if  human  opinions  oppose  one 
another,  those  alone  can  be  true  which  are  com- 
patible with  the  revealed  and  certain  dogmas  of  the 
Church.2  Therefore,  he  begs  the  student  to  hush 

1  Tennyson,  Sir  Galahad. 

2  Human  reason  is  feeble  and  may  be  deceived,  but  true  faith 
cannot  be  deceived.     All  reason  and  natural  search  ought  to  fol- 


108    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

the  clash  of  systems,  and  seek  above  and  beyond  all 
system  and  all  caviling  the  truth  pure  and  simple 
as  it  emanates  from  the  Godhead.  In  his  day  the 
clashing  of  scholastic  opinion  was  loud  and  fierce, 
and  the  din  of  the  Schools  so  filled  the  air  that  he 
stepped  aside  from  his  usual  course  of  ignoring  the 
issues  and  contests  of  the  outside  world  and  asked : 
"  What  matters  it  to  us  about  genera  and  species  ?  " 
Upon  the  solution  of  this  problem  hinged  the  end- 
less disputations  between  Nominalism  and  Realism 
ever  since  Roscelin  revived  the  issue  nearly  four 
centuries  previously.  The  students  adopted  one  or 
other  theory  according  to  their  nationality.  In  the 
University  of  Prague  the  Bohemian  students  were 
Realists,  whilst  those  of  Germany  were  Nominal- 
ists. And  when  a  crisis  occurred  in  the  affairs  of 
that  institution,  thousands  of  the  German  Nomi- 
nalists abandoned  its  halls  and  established  a  new 
university  in  Leipzig.1 

2.  Thomas  a  Kempis  has  in  his  book  no  place 
for  these  strifes.  In  a  philosophic  poem,  which  is 
only  less  sublime  than  that  with  which  St.  John 
opens  his  Gospel,  because  it  is  an  echo  thereof,  the 
devout  author  lays  down  the  doctrine  of  truth  that 
runs  through  his  book,  even  as  it  has  been  the  actu- 

low  faith,  not  to  go  before  it,  nor  to  break  in  upon  it.     Bk.  iv. 
chap,  xviii.  4,  5. 

1  Cantu,  Hist.  Univ.  t.  xii.  p.  293.  Some  say  40,000.  See  Len- 
fant,  Hist,  de  la  Guerre  des  Hussites.  Utrecht,  1731,  pp.  59,  60, 
and  Hist,  du  Concile  de  Constance,  t.  i.  pp.  30,  31.  Of  course,  the 
immediate  cause  of  the  difficulty  was  the  retrenchment  of  certain 
privileges  of  the  German  professors  and  students  by  Wenceslaus 
at  the  instigation  of  John  Huss. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    109 

ating  principle  of  his  life:  "Happy  is  he  whom 
Truth  by  itself  doth  teach,  not  by  figures  and  words 
that  pass  away,  but  as  it  is  in  itself.  Our  own 
opinion  and  our  own  sense  do  often  deceive  us,  and 
they  discern  but  little.  What  availeth  it  to  cavil 
and  dispute  much  about  dark  and  hidden  things, 
for  ignorance  of  which  we  shall  not  be  reproved  at 
the  day  of  judgment  ?  It  is  a  great  folly  to  neglect 
the  things  that  are  profitable  and  necessary,  and  to 
choose  to  dwell  upon  that  which  is  curious  and  hurt- 
ful. We  have  eyes  and  see  not.  And  what  have 
we  to  do  with  genera  and  species  ?  He  to  whom  the 
Eternal  Word  speaketh  is  delivered  from  many  an 
opinion.  From  one  Word  are  all  things,  and  all 
things  utter  one  Word ;  and  this  is  the  Beginning 
which  also  speaketh  unto  us.1  No  man  without 
that  Word  understandeth  or  judgeth  rightly.  He 
to  whom  all  things  are  one,  he  who  reduceth  all 
things  to  one,  and  seeth  all  things  in  one,  may  en- 
joy a  quiet  mind,  and  remain  at  peace  in  God.  O 
God,  who  art  Truth  itself,  make  me  one  with  Thee 
in  everlasting  love.  It  wearieth  me  often  to  read 
and  hear  many  things :  in  Thee  is  all  that  I  would 
have  and  can  desire.  Let  all  teachers  hold  their 
peace ;  let  all  creatures  be  silent  in  Thy  light ;  speak 
Thou  alone  unto  me."2  Can  you  imagine  a  sub- 
limer  passage  coming  from  a  human  hand  ? 

3.  This  is  not  a  system  of  philosophy.  Like 
Pascal  and  St.  Augustin,  a  Kempis  soars  above 
system,  and  in  the  mystical  language  so  well  known 

1  Principium,  qui  et  loquor  vobis.     St.  John  viii.  25. 

2  Bk.  i.  chap.  iii. 


110    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

and  understood  in  his  day  he  reduces  all  philoso- 
phy to  this  principle  of  seeing  things  in  the  light 
emanating  from  the  Word.  "  From  one  Word  are 
all  things,  and  all  things  utter  one  Word.  .  .  . 
No  man  without  that  Word  under standetli  or  judg- 
eth  rightly."  In  vain  would  you  search  heaven  or 
earth  for  a  more  elevating,  more  correct,  or  more 
fruitful  principle  in  philosophy.  Was  the  author 
Realist?  Was  he  Nominalist?  He  was  avowedly 
neither.  Not  that  he  was  not  interested  in  philo- 
sophic discussions;  for  had  he  not  taken  a  keen 
interest  in  them,  he  never  would  have  penned  those 
sublime  pages.  But  his  genius  sought  greater 
freedom  than  it  could  have  found  in  any  system. 
No  sooner  is  one  committed  to  a  school,  than  one 
has  %o  pare  down,  or  exaggerate,  or  suppress  alto- 
gether truths  and  facts  to  tally  with  the  system 
taught  by  the  school.  Neither  ^ruth  nor  fact  is 
the  outcome  of  system  or  school;  prior  to  either, 
both  truth  and  fact  existed.  Systems  and  schools, 
in  confessing  themselves  such,  acknowledge  by  the 
very  fact  that  they  do  not  deal  with  truth  whole 
and  entire  as  truth,  but  with  truth  as  seen  from 
a  given  point  of  view.  They  may  be  good,  they 
may  even  be  necessary,  as  aids  in  acquiring  truth ; 
but  they  are  not  to  be  identified  with  it.  They  are, 
so  to  speak,  the  scaffoldings  by  which  the  edifice  of 
truth  may  be  constructed,  and  as  such  are  to  be 
laid  aside  as  soon  as  the  structure  is  completed. 
In  this  spirit  was  it  that  Thomas  a  Kempis  thought 
and  worked. 

4.  Was  the  author  opposed  to  learning?     The 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    111 

many  expressions  in  which  he  speaks  so  lightly  of 
purely  human  knowledge  or  scholastic  disputations 
would  lead  one  to  think  that  he  was  inclined  to  dis- 
parage all  such.  Nothing  was  farther  from  his  in- 
tention. His  whole  life  was  devoted  to  the  work 
of  education.  He  had  formed  and  sent  forth,  well 
equipped,  many  distinguished  pupils  and  disciples.1 
He  never  lost  his  taste  for  books.  To  transcribe 
and  spread  abroad  good  books  both  in  sacred  and 
profane  learning  had  been  his  delight.  In  one  of 
his  sermons  he  exclaims,  "Blessed  are  the  hands  of 
such  transcribers  !  Which  of  the  writings  of  our 
ancestors  would  now  be  remembered,  if  there  had 
been  no  pious  hands  to  transcribe  them?"2  But 
as  "The  Imitation"  treats  of  the  finite  and  the 
temporal  in  their  relations  with  the  infinite  and 
the  eternal,  naturally  all  things  purely  human, 
though  not  in  themselves  insignificant,  suffer  by 
comparison.  In  this  sense  does  he  define  his  posi- 
tion :  "Learning,  science  —  scientia  —  is  not  to  be 
blamed,  nor  the  mere  knowledge  of  anything  what- 
soever, for  that  is  good  in  itself  and  ordained  of 

1  Ullmann  says  :  "  He  encouraged  susceptible  youths  to  the  zeal- 
ous prosecution  of  their  studies,  and  even  to  the  acquisition  of  a 
classical  education.     Several  of  the  most  meritorious  restorers  of 
ancient  literature  went  forth  from  his  quiet  cell,  and  he  lived  to 
see  in  his  old  age  his  scholars,  Rudolph  Lange,  Count  Maurice  of 
Spiegelherg,  Louis  Dringenberg,  Antony  Liber,  and,  above  all, 
Rudolph  Agricola  and  Alexander  Hegius,  laboring  with  success  for 
the   revival  of   the   sciences  in  Germany  and  the  Netherlands. 
Accordingly  Thomas  was  not  without  scientific  culture  himself  or 
the  power  of  inspiring  a  taste  for  it  in  others."      Eeformatoren 
vor  der  Eeformation.     Eng.  tr.  vol.  ii.  p.  135. 

2  Sermon  on  the  text :   Christus  scribii»  in  terra. 


112    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

God;  but,"  he  adds,  looking  at  things  from  his 
elevated  point  of  view,  and  in  all  truth  may  he 
say  it,  "  a  good  conscience  and  a  virtuous  life  are 
always  to  be  preferred  before  it."  He  condemns 
not  the  knowledge,  but  the  pride,  the  vanity,  the 
worldliness  that  are  sometimes  found  in  its  train. 
"Because  many  endeavor  rather  to  get  knowledge 
than  to  live  well,  they  are  often  deceived,  and  reap 
either  none  or  but  little  fruit."  In  like  manner, 
the  author  places  true  greatness,  not  in  great  intel- 
lectual attainments,  but  rather  in  great  love  and 
humility :  "  He  is  truly  great  that  hath  great  love. 
He  is  truly  great  that  is  little  in  himself  and  that 
maketh  no  account  of  any  height  of  honor." 1 

VI. 

1.  Here  we  find  ourselves  at  the  second  word 
in  which  the  philosophy  of  "The  Imitation"  is 
summed  up.  It  is  not  only  the  Light  of  Truth; 
it  is  also  the  Life  of  Grace.  This  life  consists  in 
the  practice  of  the  Christian  virtues;  the  practice 
of  the  Christian  virtues  leads  up  to  union  with 
Christ ;  and  union  with  Christ  is  consummated  in 
the  Holy  Eucharist.  Such  is  the  author's  philoso- 
phy of  life,  and  in  its  development  does  his  genius 
especially  glow.  He  is  mystical,  eloquent,  sub- 
lime. He  soars  into  the  highest  regions  of  truth 
in  which  meet  both  poetry  and  philosophy.  Fol- 
lowing in  the  footsteps  of  Christ,  heeding  his 
words,  living  in  intimate  union  with  Him,  loving 
1  Bk.  i.  chap.  iii. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    113 

Him  with  a  love  that  counts  no  sacrifice  too  great, 
trampling  under  foot  all  things  displeasing  to  Him, 
bearing  one's  burden  cheerfully  for  his  sake  — 
such  is  the  life  of  the  soul  as  revealed  in  this 
wonderful  book.  Therein  is  stress  laid  on  the 
all-important  truth  that  this  spiritual  life  should 
primarily  be  built  upon  doctrine.  Conscience  must 
be  instructed  and  trained  to  form  correct  decisions : 
"My  words  are  spirit  and  life,  and  not  to  be 
weighed  by  the  understanding  of  man.  .  .  .  Write 
thou  my  words  in  thy  heart,  and  meditate  dili- 
gently on  them,  for  in  time  of  temptation  they  will 
be  very  needful  for  thee."1  .  .  .  Then  Love  steps 
in  and  fructifies  the  soul  and  makes  it  bear  good 
actions,  actions  acceptable  and  pleasing  to  God. 
It  is  the  vital  principle  energizing  the  world  of 
Grace.  Here  a  Kempis  bursts  forth  into  a  can- 
ticle of  love  that  finds  in  every  soul  a  respon- 
sive chord:  "Love  is  a  great  thing,  yea,  a  great 

and  thorough  good Nothing  is  sweeter  than 

Love,  nothing  more  courageous,  nothing  higher, 
nothing  wider,  nothing  more  pleasant,  nothing 
fuller  nor  better  in  heaven  and  earth;  because 
Love  is  born  of  God,  and  can  rest  but  in  God 
above  all  created  things."  One  must  read  the 
whole  poem  to  understand  and  taste  its  great 
worth.2  Be  it  further  noted  how  this  canticle  of 
love  is  followed  by  a  more  practical  commentary,  in 
the  form  of  a  dialogue  between  Christ  and  the  soul, 
all  written  with  the  most  consummate  art :  — 

^k.  Hi.  chap.  in.  1,4;  iv.  3. 
2  Bk.  Hi.  chap.  v. 


114    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

"CHRIST.  My  son,  thou  art  not  yet  a  coura- 
geous and  wise  lover. 

"SouL.     Wherefore  sayest  Thou  this,  O  Lord? 

"CHRIST.  Because  for  a  slight  opposition  thou 
givest  over  thy  undertakings,  and  too  eagerly  seek- 
est  consolation.  A  courageous  lover  standeth  firm 
in  temptation,  and  giveth  no  credit  to  the  crafty 
persuasions  of  the  enemy.  As  I  please  him  in 
prosperity,  so  in  adversity  am  I  not  unpleasing  to 
him.  A  wise  lover  regards  not  so  much  the  gift 
of  him  who  loves  him,  as  the  love  of  the  giver."  1 

2.  Here  I  would  call  attention  to  a  recently  ex- 
pressed "misapprehension  of  this  love.  We  are 
told:  "This  'love  '  of  'The  Imitation  '  is  no  longer 
the  nai've,  childlike,  warmly  vital  love  of  the  opti- 
mistic warrior  who  in  this  world  cheerfully  serves 
God,  like  a  St.  Christopher,  because  God  is  the 
strongest.  This  new  sort  of  love  is  a  mystical 
adoration.  It  produces  acts,  but  they  are  done  in 
a  dream-like  sort  of  somnambulistic  ecstasy ;  they 
are  the  acts  of  one  hypnotized,  so  to  speak,  by  a 
long  look  heavenwards.  Strength  this  love  has, 
but  it  is  the  strength  of  gazing ;  movement  it  has, 
but  it  is  an  anaesthetic,  unconscious  sort  of  move- 
ment."2 Not  so  have  we  read  "The  Imitation." 
We  find  in  it  mysticism,  rhapsody,  ecstasy;  but 
we  nowhere  find  quietism,  dreaminess,  hypnotic 
influence.  The  love  of  which  a  Kernpis  speaks  is 
eminently  practical.  The  author,  in  his  earnest 
search  for  philosophic  truth,  when  taking  an  esti- 

1  Bk.  iii.  chap.  vi. 

2  Josiah  Royce,  The  Spirit  of  Modern  Philosophy,  p.  53. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    115 

mate  of  that  love,  was  reckoning  upon  a  natural  and 
purely  human  basis,  whereas  a  Kempis  was  dealing 
with  supernatural  elements.  Hence  the  misappre- 
hansion.  It  is  very  difficult  for  the  non-Catholic 
mind  to  understand  how  the  love  of  God  may  en- 
velop and  absorb  a  soid  and  yet  leave  that  soul 
thoroughly  practical  in  every-day  affairs.  Theresa 
of  Jesus  and  Ignatius  Loyola  were  both  mystics, 
highly  favored  with  visions  and  revelations  from 
God,  but  they  were  also  active  and  energetic.  The 
activity  that  grows  out  of  love  for  God  is  one  of 
zeal,  energy,  devotedness,  thoroughness.  A  Kem- 
pis was  himself  a  busy,  practical  man,  and  he  never 
could  have  separated  the  idea  of  Christian  perfec- 
tion from  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  life. 
He  never  could  have  inculcated  a  love  that  would 
paralyze  action.  He  was  no  apostle  of  quietism. 

3.  The  loving  soul  is  instructed  in  the  diverse 
ways  of  guarding  and  preserving  grace  and  virtue, 
of  overcoming  temptations,  of  fleeing  and  con- 
temning the  world,  of  trying  to  be  meek  and 
lowly  and  forbearing,  and  of  seeking  intimate 
union  with  the  Beloved.  The  inclinations  of  na- 
ture, the  windings  and  subterfuges  of  passion,  the 
dangers  from  within  one's  self  and  the  troubles 
and  annoyances  that  come  from  without,  are  all 
treated  with  a  terseness,  clearness,  simplicity,  and 
unction  that  are  not  met  with  outside  of  the  sa- 
cred Scriptures  from  which  they  are  reflected.  But 
the  devout  soul  is  especially  to  seek  strength  and 
comfort  and  consolation  in  union  with  Christ  in  the 
Sacrament  of  the  Holy  Eucharist.  This  heavenly 


116    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

gift  contains  food  for  the  hungering,  healing  for 
the  sick;  it  is  the  fountain  at  which  the  weary  and 
parched  soul  may  slake  her  thirst ;  it  is  the  fruition 
of  all  life,  the  goal  of  all  struggle,  the  crowning  of 
all  effort.  Hear  how  beautifully  the  pious  author 
expresses  the  soul's  great  need  for  this  saving  food : 
"Whilst I  am  detained  in  the  prison  of  this  body,  I 
acknowledge  myself  to  stand  in  need  of  two  things, 
to  wit,  food  and  light.  Unto  me,  then,  thus  weak 
and  helpless,  Thou  hast  given  Thy  Sacred  Body  for 
the  nourishment  both  of  my  soul  and  body;  and 
Thy  Word  Thou  hast  set  as  a  light  unto  my  feet. 
Without  these  two  I  should  not  be  able  to  live,  for 
the  word  of  God  is  the  light  of  my  soul,  and  Thy 
Sacrament  the  bread  of  life.  .  .  .  Thanks  be  unto 
Thee,  O  Thou  Creator  and  Redeemer  of  mankind, 
who  to  manifest  Thy  love  to  the  whole  world  hast 
prepared  a  great  supper,  wherein  Thou  hast  set 
before  us  to  be  eaten,  not  the  typical  lamb,  but 
Thy  most  Sacred  Body  and  Blood,  rejoicing  all  the 
faithful  with  this  holy  banquet,  and  replenishing 
them  to  the  full  with  the  cup  of  salvation  in  which 
are  all  the  delights  of  paradise;  and  the  holy  an- 
gels do  feast  with  us,  but  yet  with  a  more  happy 
sweetness."1 

4.  Thus  it  is  that  heaven  and  earth  centre  in 
the  Eucharist.  All  the  yearnings  of  the  devout 
soul  for  union  with  the  Godhead  find  their  consum- 
mation in  the  worthy  reception  of  our  Lord  in  this 
Sacrament  of  his  love.  Every  act  of  virtue  is  an 
act  of  preparation  for  its  reception  in  *the  future 

1  Bk.  iv.  chap.  xi.  4,  5. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    117 

and  of  thanksgiving  for  past  Communions.  And 
so  the  Holy  Eucharist  becomes  the  central  object 
of  all  spiritual  life.  All  this  is  developed  with 
great  ingenuity  in  the  fourth  book  of  "The  Imita- 
tion." There  are  several  editions  with  this  book 
omitted.  Those  making  the  omission  little  think 
that  they  are  losing  sight  of  the  principle  and  the 
motives  underlying  the  other  books.  But  so  it  is. 
They  are  constructing  an  arch  without  a  keystone. 
They  are  giving  us  the  play  of  "Hamlet "  with  the 
part  of  Hamlet  omitted.  They  are  indeed  still 
distributing  good  and  wholesome  thoughts ;  but  at 
the  same  time  they  are  destroying  the  unity  of  the 
book  and  mistaking  its  philosophy.  It  is  no  longer 
Thomas  a  Kempis;  it  is  Thomas  a  Kempis  diluted 
and  seasoned  to  suit  individual  palates. 

5.  Draper,  equally  mistaken  as  to  the  importance 
of  the  fourth  book  as  a  clue  to  the  others,  imputed 
to  the  pious  author  motives  which  the  author  would 
have  repudiated,  and  assigned  his  book  a  purpose 
for  which  it  was  never  intended.  "  Its  quick  ce- 
lebrity," this  writer  tells  us,  "is  a  proof  how  pro- 
foundly ecclesiastical  influence  had  been  affected, 
for  its  essential  intention  was  to  enable  the  pious 
to  cultivate  their  devotional  feelings  without  the 
intervention  of  the  clergy.  .  .  .  The  celebrity  of 
this  book  was  rather  dependent  on  a  profound  dis- 
trust everywhere  felt  in  the  clergy  both  as  regards 
morals  and  intellect."1  The  assertion  is  gratui- 

1  Intellectual  Development  of  Europe,  p.  470.  Mr.  Lecky  calls  this 
work  "  extremely  remarkable."  History  of  European  Morals,  vol. 
i.  p.  105.  The  writer  has  found  it  remarkable  in  its  systematic 
efforts  at  misreading  history  and  misinterpreting  events. 


118   PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

tous.  There  was  nothing  in  the  life  or  character 
of  the  author  to  warrant  the  statement.  It  is  con- 
tradicted by  the  work  itself.  No  man  speaks 
more  reverently  of  the  functions  of  the  Altar,  or 
holds  in  greater  esteem  the  dignity  of  the  priest- 
hood than  does  this  same  Thomas  a  Kempis,  him- 
self a  worthy  priest.  "Great  is  the  dignity  of 
priests,  to  whom  that  is  given  which  is  not  granted 
to  angels;  for  priests  alone  rightly  ordained  in  the 
Church  have  power  to  celebrate  and  consecrate  the 
Body  of  Christ."1  .  .  .  And  he  thus  concludes 
his  beautiful  eulogy  on  the  priest  at  the  altar: 
"  When  a  priest  celebrates,  he  honors  God,  he  re- 
joices the  angels,  he  edifies  the  Church,  he  helps 
the  living,  he  obtains  rest  for  the  dead,  and  makes 
himself  partaker  of  all  good  things."2  Thus  it  is 
that  Thomas  places  the  priest  between  God  and  the 
people  as  their  mediator  through  the  sacrifice  of 
the  Mass.  Surely  he  could  establish  no  stronger 
bond  of  union  between  clergy  and  laity.  Where, 
then,  is  the  distrust  of  which  this  writer  speaks? 
You  may  search  the  book  from  cover  to  cover  and 
you  will  seek  in  vain  for  a  single  word  tending 
by  any  manner  of  means,  directly  or  indirectly,  to 
promote  or  widen  the  estrangement  of  the  clergy 
from  the  laity.  Another  writer,  a  Protestant,  re- 
garded Thomas  a  Kempis  in  this  same  relation, 
but  his  conclusion  was  the  very  reverse.  He  read, 
as  every  truth  -  loving  historian  must  read,  that 
its  author  "recognizes  the  existing  hierarchy  and 
ecclesiastical  constitution  in  their  whole  extent,  to- 
1  Bk.  iv.  chap.  v.  5.  2  Ibid.  v.  6. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITA  TION    119 

gether  with  the  priesthood  in  its  function  of  medi- 
ating between  God  and  man,  and  ...  on  every 
occasion  insists  upon  ecclesiastical  obedience  as  one 
of  the  greatest  virtues."1  This  is  the  whole  spirit 
and  intention  of  a  Kempis.  The  secret  of  the 
celebrity  of  "The  Imitation"  goes  deeper  than 
the  popularity  of  the  hour.  Let  us  consider  it 
for  a  moment. 


VII. 


1.  How,  it  may  be  asked,  was  the  author  able  to 
compass,  within  the  covers  of  this  slender  volume, 
so  much  wisdom,  such  a  vast  spiritual  experience, 
such  beautiful  poetry  and  such  profound  philosophy. 
And  he  has  done  all  this  with  a  grasp  and  terse- 
ness of  expression  to  which  no  translation  has  ever 
been  able  to  do  justice.  It  is  because  Thomas  a 
Kempis  is  more  than  a  pious  monk,  picking  up  the 
experiences  of  the  saints  and  Fathers  who  preceded 
him;  he  is  one  of  the  world-authors;  and  "The 
Imitation  "  is  so  clearly  stamped  with  the  impress 
of  his  genius,  that  wherever  men  can  read  they 
recognize  it  as  a  book  that  comes  home  to  their 
business  and  bosoms  for  all  time.  Go  where  we 
will,  we  shall  perceive  its  silent  influence  working 
for  good,  and  upon  natures  that  seem  least  pre- 
pared to  be  affected  by  it.  Thus  we  read  how  a 
Moorish  prince  shows  a  missionary  visiting  him  a 
Turkish  version  of  the  book,  and  tells  him  that  he 

1  Ullmann,  Reform,  vor  der  Ref.     Eng.  tr  vol.  ii.  p.  156. 


120    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

prizes  it  above  all  others  in  his  possession*1  That 
prince  may  not  have  been  a  good  Mohammedan  in 
so  prizing  this  little  book ; 2  but  if  he  read  it  with 
sincerity  and  thoughtfulness  he  was  all  the  better 
man  for  it.  The  transition  from  the  cold  and  fixed 
fatalism,  the  barren  piety  and  fierce  tribe-spirit  of 
the  Koran  to  the  life  and  warmth  and  soothing 
words  of  "The  Imitation,"  must  indeed  have  been 
to  him  a  new  revelation  that  helped  to  burst  the 
bands  and  cerements  of  many  a  Mohammedan 
prejudice. 

2.  Again,  the  book  has  always  been  a  consoler  in 
tribulation.  Louis  XVI.,  when  a  prisoner,  found 
great  comfort  in  its  pages,  and  read  them  day  and 
night.  La  Harpe,  in  his  love  and  admiration 
for  what  in  his  day  was  considered  elegant  litera- 
ture, thought  the  book  beneath  his  notice,  even  as 
the  Humanists  before  him  had  regarded  St.  Paul. 
But  La  Harpe  comes  to  grief,  and  imprisoned  in 
the  Luxembourg  meets  with  it,  and,  opening  it 
at  random,  reads:  "Behold,  here  I  am;  behold,  I 
come  to  thee  because  thou  hast  called  Me.  Thy 
tears,  and  the  desire  of  thy  soul,  thy  humiliation 
and  contrition  of  heart,  have  inclined  and  brought 
Me  to  thee."3  These  touching  words  seemed  to 
come  directly  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  Consoler 

1  Avertissement  d'une   ancienne   traduction  publie*e  en   1663, 
prefixed  to  the  edition  of  Abbe*  Jauffret,  p.  x. 

2  A  book  hath  been  sent  down  unto  thee :  and  therefore  let  there 
be  no  doubt  in  thy  breast  concerning  it.  ...  Follow  that  which 
hath  been  sent  down  unto  thee  from  thy  Lord ;  and  follow  no 
guide  besides  him.      Kor&n,  chap.  vii.  1. 

8  Bk.  iii.  chap.  xxi.  5. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    121 

himself.  It  was  like  an  apparition.  He  says:  "I 
fell  on  my  face  and  wept  freely."  Ever  after 
"The  Imitation"  was  one  of  La  Harpe's  most 
cherished  books. 

3.  Once  more:  a  woman  of  superior  genius 
grandly  weaves  into  one  of  her^most  powerful  nov- 
els the  great  influence  which  this  book  wields  for 
good.  The  heroine  is  represented  with  her  young 
soul  stifling  in  the  atmosphere  of  sordid  aim  and 
routine  existence,  her  desires  unsatisfied,  her  yearn- 
ings finding  no  outlet ;  groping  in  thickest  dark- 
ness, impulsive,  thoughtless,  imprudent,  and  withal 
well-meaning.  Trouble  and  misfortune  have  come 
upon  her,  and  she  has  not  yet  learned  the  lesson  of 
Christian  patience  and  long-suffering.  Her  restive 
soul  beats  against  the  cage  of  circumstances  with 
hopeless  flutter.  An  accident  puts  her  in  posses- 
sion of  a  copy  of  "The  Imitation."  She  reads  the 
book.  It  thrills  her  with  awe,  "as  if  she  had  been 
wakened  in  the  night  by  a  strain  of  solemn  music 
telling  of  beings  whose  soul  had  been  astir  while 
hers  was  in  stupor."  It  is  to  her  the  revelation 
of  a  new  world  of  thought  and  spirituality.  She 
realizes  that  life,  even  in  her  confined  sphere  of 
action  and  routine  existence,  may  be  ennobled  and 
made  worth  living.  Was  this  woman  transcribing 
a  chapter  from  her  own  life?  In  reading  these 
magnificent  pages  we  feel  that  what  George  Eliot 
so  graphically  recorded  of  Maggie  Tulliver,  she  had 
found  engraven  on  the  heart  of  Marian  Evans.1 

1  George  Eliot  is  the  nom  de  plume  of  Marian  Evans,  succes- 
sively Mrs.  George  Lewes  and  Mrs.  Cross. 


122    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

This  is  all  the  more  remarkable,  as  she  did  not 
recognize  the  divine  source  of  inspiration  whence 
a  Kempis  drew  so  copiously.  But  she  too  had  had 
her  soul-hungerings,  and  had  found  many  a  pres- 
sing question  answered  by  "this  voice  out  of  the 
far-off  Middle  Age| "  much  more  efficiently  than 
in  feeding  on  the  husks  of  Positivism  and  Agnos- 
ticism. And  with  her  experience  of  the  magic 
book  well  might  she  pay  it  this  eloquent  tribute : 
"I  suppose  that  is  the  reason  why  the  small,  old- 
fashioned  book,  for  which  you  need  only  pay  six- 
pence at  a  book-stall,  works  miracles  to  this  day, 
turning  bitter  waters  into  sweetness,  while  ex- 
pensive sermons  and  treatises,  newly  issued,  leave 
all  things  as  they  were  before.  It  was  written 
down  by  a  hand  that  waited  for  the  heart's  promp- 
ting; it  is  the  chronicle  of  a  solitary  hidden  an- 
guish, struggle,  trust,  and  triumph,  not  written 
on  velvet  cushions  to  teach  endurance  to  those  who 
are  treading  with  bleeding  feet  on  the  stones. 
And  so  it  remains  to  all  time  a  lasting  record  of 
human  needs  and  human  consolations ;  the  voice  of 
a  brother  who,  ages  ago,  felt,  and  suffered,  and  re- 
nounced, in  the  cloister,  perhaps,  with  serge  gown 
and  tonsured  head,  with  much  chanting  and  long 
fasts,  and  with  a  fashion  of  speech  different  from 
ours,  but  under  the  same  silent  far-off  heavens,  and 
with  the  same  passionate  desires,  the  same  striv- 
ings, the  same  failures,  the  same  weariness." l  Not 
with  the  same  failures,  for  this  good  monk  sought 
only  God  and  God  was  with  him;  not  with  the 

1  The  Mill  on  th?  Floss,  bk.  iv.  chap.  i'.i.  p.  272. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  IMITATION    123 

same  weariness,  for  possessing  God  in  his  heart, 
he  was  filled  with  joy,  and  in  all  gladness  of  soul 
he  took  up  his  burden  and  bore  it  cheerfully. 


VIII. 

1.  Here  is  the  secret  of  the  magic  influence 
wielded  by  "The  Imitation."  Pick  it  up  when  or 
where  we  may,  open  it  at  any  page  we  will,  we  al- 
ways find  something  to  suit  our  frame  of  mind. 
The  author's  genius  has  such  complete  control  of 
the  subject,  and  handles  it  with  so  firm  a  grasp, 
that  in  every  sentence  we  find  condensed  the  expe- 
rience of  ages.  It  is  humanity  finding  in  this  sim- 
ple man  an  adequate  mouthpiece  for  the  utterance 
of  its  spiritual  wants  and  soul-yearnings.  And  his 
expression  is  so  full  and  adequate  because  he  re- 
garded things  in  the  white  light  of  God's  truth, 
and  saw  their  nature  and  their  worth  clearly  and 
distinctly,  as  divested  of  the  hues  and  tints  flung 
around  them  by  passion  and  illusion.  He  probed 
the  human  heart  to  its  lowest  depths  and  its  inmost 
folds ;  he  searched  intentions  and  motives  and  found 
self  lurking  in  the  purest ;  he  explored  the  wind- 
ings of  human  folly  and  human  misery  and  discov- 
ered them  to  proceed  from  self-love  and  self -grati- 
fication. But  this  author  does  not  simply  lay  bare 
the  sores  and  wounds  of  poor  bleeding  human  na- 
ture. He  also  prescribes  the  remedy.  And  none 
need  go  away  unhelped.  For  the  footsore  who 
are  weary  with  "treading  the  sharp  stones  and  pier- 
cing thorns  on  the  highways  and  by-ways  of  life ; 


124    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

for  the  heart  aching  with  pain  and  disappointment 
and  crushed  with  a  weight  of  tribulations ;  for  the 
intellect  parched  with  thirsting  after  the  fountain 
of  true  knowledge ;  for  the  soul  living  in  aridity 
and  dryness  of  spirit;  for  the  sinner  immersed  in 
the  mire  of  sin  and  iniquity,  and  the  saint,  earnestly 
toiling  up  the  hill  of  perfection  —  for  all  he  pre- 
scribes a  balm  that  heals,  and  to  all  does  he  show 
the  road  that  leads  to  the  Life  and  the  Light. 
Turn  we  now  from  a  work  inspired  in  the  calm  of 
monastic  life  to  a  work  indited  amid  the  storms  of 
passion  and  tribulation,  and  withal  bearing  a  deep 
spiritual  meaning.  Let  us  consider  Dante's  great 
poem. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  THE  DIVINA  COMMEDLA.. 


A  STUDY  of  the  "Divina  Commedia,"  in  any  of 
its  aspects,  must  needs  be  a  study  of  the  age  in 
which  it  was  produced,  of  the  man  out  of  the  full- 
ness of  whose  soul  it  issued  in  notes  strong  and 
clear,  and  of  the  various  influences  that  made  their 
impress  upon  both  the  man  and  the  poem.  Of  all 
the  supreme  efforts  of  creative  genius,  the  "  Divina 
Commedia  "  is  that  that  can  least  be  taken  out  of 
the  times  and  circumstances  that  gave  it  birth.  Its 
contemporary  history  and  its  contemporary  spirit 
constitute  its  clearest  and  best  commentary.  In 
the  light  of  this  commentary  we  shall  attempt  to 
read  its  chief  meaning  and  significance.  Few 
poems  admit  of  so  many  instructive  interpretations ; 
few  so  profitably  repay  earnest  study.  It  is  a 
primary  law  of  criticism,  that  if  we  can  pluck 
from  the  heart  of  any  poem  its  central  conception 
and  vivifying  principle,  we  shall  not  only  grasp  its 
meaning  in  the  main,  but  we  shall  also  throw  light 
upon  many  a  dark  corner  within  its  structure. 
And  in  working  along  the  line  of  the  Spiritual  Sense 
of  the  "Divina  Commedia  "  we  shall  be  most  likely 
to  grasp  that  conception  and  verify  that  principle, 


126    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Unfortunately,  commentators  have  so  buried  the 
beauty  and  meaning  of  the  poem  beneath  the  rub- 
bish of  conjecture  and  far-fetched  interpretation, 
that  its  unity  of  plan  and  purpose  has  in  great 
measure  been  lost  sight  of,  and  its  true  grandeur 
but  rarely  appreciated.  We  shall  first  address  our- 
selves to  the  man  and  his  times ;  afterwards  we  shall 
consider  the  poem  in  its  general  spirit  and  bearing 
as  the  outcome  of  the  times  and  the  man;  and 
finally,  we  shall  endeavor  to  determine  the  philoso- 
phy and  doctrine  that  are  the  foundation  of  its 
Spiritual  Sense,  and  the  nature,  action,  and  expres- 
sion of  that  Sense. 

II. 

1.  Dante  was  born  in  1265;  he  died  in  1321. 
Glance  at  what  had  been  done  before,  and  what 
was  being  done  within  the  compass  of  those  years. 
Already  the  piety,  zeal,  and  indomitable  spirit  of 
Innocent  III.  (pope,  1198-1216)  had  caused  the 
papacy  to  be  respected  throughout  Christendom, 
and  raised  it  to  a  high  pinnacle  of  glory  and  pres- 
tige. It  became  the  controlling  power  in  Europe. 
St.  Louis  had  led  the  final  Crusade  and  died  in  a 
stranger's  land  (1270).  The  last  faint  echoes  of  the 
trumpet-voice  that  nigh  two  centuries  before  had 
aroused  nations  and  hurled  army  after  army  upon 
the  shores  of  Asia  were  now  dying  away  within 
Dante's  own  hearing.  The  poet  was  born  into 
stirring  times.  Feuds  and  factions  were  rife. 
They  were  handed  down  from  sire  to  son  and 
brought  in  their  trail  ruin,  bloodshed,  and  desola- 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  127 

tion.  City  stood  against  city,  province  against 
province;  and  both  city  and  province,  town,  ham- 
let, and  even  house,  were  torn  by  internal  dissen- 
sions. No  man  could  escape  being  embroiled.  No 
man  could  hold  his  head  up  and  walk  securely,  a 
man  among  his  fellow-men,  who  did  not  share  the 
responsibilities  of  his  party,  and  carry  out  the  vin- 
dictiveness  of  the  house  with  which  he  was  con- 
nected. Men  were  Blacks  or  Whites;  they  were 
Guelf  or  Ghibelline ;  they  were  Cerchi  or  Donati : 
they  accordingly  fought  and  suffered.  This  fact 
made  the  "Divina  Commedia"  possible;  it  gave  it 
some  of  its  color  and  helped  to  fashion  it  into  its 
present  shape.  It  brought  Dante  exile,  poverty, 
suffering ;  it  hardened  him  against  his  enemies ;  it 
inspired  the  gall  and  bitterness ;  but  it  also  gave 
him  the  leisure  to  meditate  and  construct  his  great 
poem.1 

2.  The  age  of  Dante  was  preeminently  a  Catholic 
age.  It  was  an  age  when  men  lived  in  one  faith, 
had  one  ritual,  recited  one  creed,  were  taught  one 
and  the  same  doctrine  and  practice,  and  breathed 
a  common  religious  atmosphere.  The  Church  ex- 
tended the  mantle  of  her  care  and  charity  over  all 
orders  of  society,  and  gave  sanction  and  benediction 
to  institutions  founded  to  meet  the  spiritual  and 
bodily  wants  of  Christ's  poor.  Dissenting  sects 
and  schools  such  as  the  Albigenses  and  Waldenses 

1  "I  went  about,"  he  tells  us,  "almost  a  beggar,  showing 
against  my  will  the  wound  of  fortune,  the  blame  of  which  fre-' 
quently  and  unjustly  is  wont  to  be  imputed  to  the  person  stricken." 
—  Convito,  trait,  i.  cap.  3. 


128    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

in  France,  the  Cathari,  Paterini,  and  disciples  of 
Dolcino 1  in  Italy,  cropped  out  here  and  there,  but 
they  were  the  exception.  The  only  recognized 
form  of  religion  in  every  nation  —  that  upon 
which  every  Christian  state  in  great  measure  was 
built  —  was  the  Catholic  religion.  Keligion  was 
the  supreme  affair  with  the  men  and  women  of  that 
day.  The  world  beyond  the  grave  was  to  them  an 
ever-present  reality.  Their  thoughts  and  fancies 
dwelt  in  it.  Their  belief  in  it  was  intense.  They, 
so  to  speak,  touched  it  with  their  hands.  It  was 
a  powerful  factor  in  their  lives.  They  might  be 
guilty  of  great  excesses;  indeed,  theirs  was  an 
age  of  excesses ;  but  sooner  or  later  remorse  over- 
took them,  and  their  atonement  was  as  generous  as 
their  sins  were  enormous.2  Religion  was  abused, 
but  its  beneficial  effects  continued  to  be  manifest ; 
vice  was  flagrant,  but  it  never  lost  the  sense  of 
shame ;  men  were  cruel,  but  their  cruelty  was  fol- 
lowed by  sincere  regrets ;  misfortunes  were  frequent 
and  signal,  but  they  were  accepted  with  resignation 
or  with  the  hope  of  retrieval,  or  men  gloried  in 
them  on  account  of  the  cause  in  which  they  suf- 
fered. "Religion,"  says  Tommaseo,  "was  not  sep- 
arated from  morality,  nor  science  from  life,  nor 
were  words  from  deeds."3  Such  was  life  at  that 
day ;  such  do  we  find  it  exemplified  in  the  person 
of  the  poet  and  embodied  in  his  poem. 

1  Inferno,  xxviiii  55.     Villani,  Cron.  lib.  viii.  cap.  14. 

2  Guido  da  Montefeltro  after  a  life  of  violence  becomes  a  Fran- 
ciscan Friar.     See  L'Inferno,  xxvii.  67-129. 

3  La  Divina    Commedia,  commentata   da   Niccolo   Tommaseo. 
L' Inferno,  art.  "II  secolo  di  Dante,"  p.  xx. 


THE  D1VINA  COMMEDIA  129 

3.  This  religious  spirit  inspired  the  chivalry  of 
the  day.     Knights  passed   from  land  to  land    in 
search  of  adventure,  vowed  to  protect  and  defend 
the  widow  and  the  orphan  and  the  lonely  or  op- 
pressed woman  at  the  hazard  of  their  lives;  they 
went  about  with  a  prayer  on  their  lips,  and  in  their 
heart  the  image  of  the  lady-love  whom  they  had 
chosen  to  serve  and  to  whom  they  had  pledged  loy- 
alty and  fidelity;  they  strove  to  be  chaste  in  body 
and  soul,  and  as  a  tower  of  strength  for  the  protec- 
tion of  this  spirit  of  chastity  they  were  taught  to 
venerate  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God  and  cultivate 
towards  her  a  tender  devotion  as  the  purest  and 
holiest  ideal  of  womanhood.    This  spirit  of  chivalry 
is  the  ruling  spirit  of  Dante's  life  and  the  inspira- 
tion of  some  of  his  sublimest  flights.    As  the  knight 
wore  the  color  of  the  lady  of  his  heart  and  pro- 
claimed her  transcendent  qualities  to  all  comers, 
even  so  did  Dante,  in  the  same  spirit,  proclaim  the 
beauty  and  loveliness  and  virtue  of  his  Beatrice 
beyond  all  compare. 

4.  This  religious  spirit  inspired  men  and  women 
to  go  on  long  and  wearisome  pilgrimages.     Every 
shrine  of  prayer  had  its  votaries.     With  staff  and 
scrip,   and  in  all  humility  and  earnestness;  in  a 
prayerful  spirit,  in  penance  for  sin,  for  the  heal- 
ing of  soul  or  body,  with  the  view  of  obtaining 
through  the  intercession  of  a  favorite  saint  some 
special  grace,  they  walked  to  the  place  of  pilgrim- 
age,   and   there   in  vigils   and   fastings  besought 
heaven  in  their  behalf.     The  practices  and  expres- 
sions of  pilgrimages  became  part  of  men's  think- 


130     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

ing.  They  entered  into  the  language  of  spiritual 
life.  Life  itself  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  pilgrim- 
age to  the  heavenly  Jerusalem.  And  in  this  alle- 
gory do  we  find  the  key  to  one  meaning  running 
through  the  "Divina  Commedia." 

5.  This  religious  spirit  gave  direction  to  the 
studies  of  the  day.  It  was  the  inspiration  of  the 
teachers  of  the  age.  It  caused  to  bud  and  bloom 
the  fruitful  thoughts  of  the  great  thinkers  of  this 
teeming  epoch.  Pope  and  king  vied  with  each  other 
in  founding  universities  and  schools.1  It  was  an  age 
of  inquiry  and  disputation  ;  but  over  all  presided 
faith  and  piety.  The  schools  were  filled  to  over- 
flowing. The  brilliant  philosophic  lights,  Thomas 
Aquinas  and  Bonaventura,  both  died  in  the  eventful 
ninth  year  of  Dante's  life  (1274).  Albertus  Magnus 
died  when  Dante  was  in  his  fifteenth  year  (1280); 
Roger  Bacon,  when  the  poet  was  in  his  twenty-ninth 
year.  These  men  represent  all  that  was  grandest, 
noblest,  and  best  in  the  thought  of  the  schools. 
Contemporary  with  our  poet  were  lesser  lights, 
also  profound  thinkers  and  instigators  to  thought : 
Raymond  Lully  (1235-1315),  Duns  Scotus  1265- 
1308),  Ockham  (d.  1347).  The  light  of  these  men 

1  In  Dante's  own  day  Boniface  VIII.  established  the  Uni- 
versity known  as  the  Sapienza.  We  may,  in  justice  to  a  much- 
maligned  man,  and  as  an  antidote  to  the  bitterness  of  Dante's 
verses  against  him,  quote  the  following  tribute  :  "  Religion  owes 
to  him  the  consoling  institution  of  the  Jubilee  ;  ecclesiastical  juris- 
prudence, the  sixth  book  of  the  Decretals ;  and  general  sci- 
ence, the  foundation  of  the  Roman  university  known  as  the  Sapi- 
enza." Darras's  History  of  the  Church,  vol.  iii.  p.  456.  See 
Darras's  larger  work  continued  by  Abbe"  J.  Bareille,  t.  xxx.  pp. 
18-124. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  131 

set  Christendom  aglow.  Thought  was  quickened. 
The  very  atmosphere  vibrated  with  scholastic  dis- 
putations. It  was  the  golden  era  of  scholasticism. 
Dante  made  careful  study  of  the  writings  of  these 
thinkers.  Some  of  them  he  may  have  heard  dis- 
course and  expound;  for  he  attended  the  schools 
and  entered  into  the  discussions  that  were  then  con- 
sidered so  essential  an  element  of  study  and  a  crite- 
rion of  proficiency.  We  learn  from  Boccaccio  how 
strong  in  the  poet  was  the  spirit  of  study :  "  In  his 
eagerness  to  know,  he  heeded  neither  heat  nor  cold, 
nor  vigils,  nor  fasts,  nor  any  other  bodily  incon- 
venience." Dante  retained  that  spirit,  with  few  in- 
termissions, through  life.  The  writings  of  his  con- 
temporaries and  their  instructors  —  especially  those 
of  Aquinas  and  Bonaventura  —  became  his  daily 
food,  and  they  are  the  basis  of  his  great  poem.1 
Nor  did  he  forget  Plato  and  Aristotle  so  far  as  they 
were  known  and  understood  in  his  day.  The 
Stagyrite  he  calls  the  master  of  those  who  know, 
and  next  him  in  the  philosophic  family  he  places 

1  The  depth  and  accuracy  of  Dante's  theological  knowledge  is 
something  marvelous.  The  terseness  and  grasp  with  which  he 
handles  the  most  abstruse  subjects  has  never  been  excelled,  and  has 
never  ceased  to  elicit  the  admiration  of  competent  judges.  Epi- 
taphs are  not  always  correct ;  but  ages  of  study  and  investigation 
have  confirmed  that  upon  the  poet's  tomb  at  Ravenna ;  all  are 
agreed  that  Dante  is  not  only  the  glory  of  the  Muses  and  the  pop- 
ular favorite,  but  also  the  theologian  lacking  naught  in  doctrine 
and  philosophy :  — 

"  Theologus  Dantes,  null  ins  dogmatis  expers, 

Quod  faveat  claro  philosophia  sinu  ; 
Gloria  Musarum,  vulgo  gratissimus  auctor, 
Hie  jacet,  et  fama  pulsat  utrumque  polum."  .  .  . 


132     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Socrates  and  Plato.1  Much  there  was  in  the  dis- 
cussions of  this  period  that  was  purely  curious, 
silly,  of  small  edification,  and  of  no  profit;  much 
also  was  there  that  we  of  the  present  may  study 
with  advantage;  much,  indeed,  must  there  have 
been  that  was  noble  and  suggestive,  since  it  was 
the  epoch  that  built  the  gothic  cathedral,  dictated 
the  "Summa  Theologica,"  and  inspired  the  "Di- 
vina  Commedia." 


m. 

1.  Thus  it  was  that  over  all  presided  Eeligion. 
Religion  was  the  Time-spirit  of  that  age.  It  per- 
meated thought  and  word  and  work.  This  fact  we 
must  bring  home  to  ourselves  if  we  would  under- 
stand the  scope  of  the  great  poem  under  consid- 
eration. A  word  upon  the  evolution  of  this  spirit 
may  not  be  out  of  place.  Pagan  Rome  attained 
her  rounded  civilization  by  reason  of  the  fact  that 
all  the  elements  in  the  state,  whether  literary,  or 
political,  or  religious,  or  social,  or  industrial,  or 
artistic,  were  bound  up  in  harmony,  and  were  sub- 
servient to  the  one  universal,  all-absorbing  idea  of 
Rome.  Everything  in  life  and  conduct,  in  religion 
and  morals,  was  sacrificed  to  the  will,  the  safety, 
and  the  glory  of  Rome.  Then  came  Christianity. 

1  Vidi  il  Maestro  di  color  che  sanno, 

Seder  tra  filosofica  f  amiglia. 
Tutti  1'  ammiran,  tutti  honor  gli  fanno. 

Quivi  vid  'io  e  Soerate  e  Platone, 
Che  innanzi  agli  altri  pi ii  presso  gli  stanno. 

Inferno,  iv.  131-135. 


THE  DIV1NA    COMMEDIA  133 

It  entered  as  a  disturbing  element.  It  brought 
not  peace  and  concord,  but  discord  and  the  sword. 
It  undid  the  harmony  existing  between  the  state, 
religion,  and  human  passion.  It  taught  men  to 
make  war  upon  their  unruly  passions,  and  over 
the  corpse  of  slain  evil  inclination  to  walk  in  the 
road  of  self-denial  to  a  higher  spiritual  life  un- 
dreamed of  in  the  religion  of  pagan  Kome.  That 
God  was  more  than  man,  the  soul  more  than  the 
body,  eternity  more  than  time;  that  the  practice 
of  virtue  was  noble  and  self-indulgence  base ;  that 
spending  and  being  spent  for  the  good  of  one's 
neighbor  was  laying  up  treasures  in  heaven ;  that 
to  live  in  Christ  and  die  for  Christ  was  gain ;  that 
the  love  of  God  and  man  was  the  supreme  law  of 
life:  such  were  the  seeds  of  doctrine  sown  broad- 
cast throughout  the  Roman  state,  and  nurtured  by 
the  blood  of  millions  of  martyrs.  The  barbarian 
came  and  conquered  pagan  Kome,  to  be  conquered 
in  turn  by  the  Christianity  he  found  there.  And 
this  Christianity  sought  him  in  his  native  wilds  and 
took  possession  of  him.  For  centuries  the  fierce 
spirit  of  the  barbarian  struggled  against  the  checks 
placed  upon  his  untutored  nature.  Indeed,  that 
spirit  has  never  been  wholly  overcome.  We  all  of 
us  carry  it  within  our  breasts,  and  it  only  requires 
the  occasion  to  arouse  its  ferocity. 

2.  Still,  in  the  age  of  Dante,  in  spite  of  great  ex- 
cesses, man  had  come  to  recognize  the  existence  of 
a  spiritual  life  and  a  spiritual  world,  and  to  bow 
in  submission  to  an  authority  speaking  to  him 
in  the  name  of  the  higher  spiritual  power.  He 


134    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

had  come  to  regard  the  Church  as  the  medium 
through  which  God  reveals  his  will  to  men.  At 
this  epoch,  we  find  the  secular  and  religious  ele- 
ments of  society  more  harmoniously  blended  than 
they  were  before  or  have  been  since.  This  blending 
is  strikingly  reflected  in  that  one  great  poem  that 
is  the  full  and  clear  expression  of  all  mediaeval 
thought  and  mediaeval  life.1  Herein  enters  an  ele- 
ment that  is  absent  from  pagan  literature.  It  is 
the  element  of  spiritual  life  and  spiritual  thought. 
It  speaks  of  the  predominance  of  faith.  Faith 
tinged  word  and  work  and  made  both  word  and 
work  sincere,  earnest,  and,  says  Ruskin,  "in  a  de- 
gree few  of  us  can  now  conceive,  joyful."2  Men 
lived  in  hope,  sought  the  light  and  looked  toward 
the  light.  Everywhere  they  found  reflections  of 
the  Light  that  enlighteneth  this  world.  In  this 
respect  there  is  a  marked  contrast  between  the 
Time-spirit  of  that  day  and  the  Time-spirit  of  the 
present.  The  great  chorus  of  modern  thought  is  a 
loud  proclaiming  of  pessimism  and  the  despair  that 

1  That  there  was  iu  Dante's  spirit  a  leaven  of  the  old  Roman 
spirit  determining  his  judgments  of  things  in  antagonism  with  the 
spirit  of  Christianity  is  apparent  from  these  two  instances:    1.  He 
condemns  Pope  Celestine  V.  for  resigning  from  the  Papacy.     Now 
it  is  certainly  a  meritorious  act  to  withdraw  from  any  position  the 
duties  of  which  one  is  unable  to  fulfill ;   and  that  the  Church  so 
regarded  this  act  of  Celestine  is  evident  from  the  fact  that  she 
canonized   the  good  Pope.     2.  The  Church  condemns    suicide  as 
an  act  of  moral  cowardice ;  and  yet  Dante  places  the  keeping  of 
Purgatory  in  the  care  of  Cato  of  Utica,  because  he  renounced  life 
rather  than  liberty.     It  is  to  the  point  as  an  allegory,  but  the  spirit 
of  pagan  Rome  all  unconsciously  breathes  through  the  admiration 
of  the  poet  for  the  old  Roman. 

2  Pleasures  of  England,  p.  57. 


THE  DIVINA  COM  MEDIA  135 

would  destroy  a  hereafter,  annihilate  the  soul,  and 
ignore  a  Personal  Divinity.  It  acts  in  open  defi- 
ance of  the  whole  Christian  codes  of  the  spiritual 
truth  and  the  spiritual  law  that  are  essential  ele- 
ments in  all  modern  conduct  and  modern  thinking. 
"Its  crowning  dogma,"  says  a  recent  writer,  "is 
written  even  now  between  the  lines  in  many  a 
dainty  volume,  that  evil  has  a  secret  holiness,  and 
sin  a  consecrating  magnificence."1 

3.  Now,  of  this  agnostic  spirit  must  we  divest 
ourselves  in  entering  upon  a  study  of  Dante's  mas- 
terpiece. There  we  will  find  no  doubt.  All  is  in- 
tense earnestness.  The  light  of  faith  guides  the 
poet's  steps  through  the  hopeless  chambers  of  Hell 
with  a  firmness  of  conviction  that  knows  no  waver- 
ing ;  it  bears  him  through  the  sufferings  of  Purga- 
tory, believing  strongly  in  its  reality ;  it  raises  him 
on  the  wings  of  love  and  contemplation  into  Heav- 
en's empyrean,  where  he  really  hopes  to  enjoy  bliss 
far  beyond  aught  whereof  he  sings.  If  we  would 
understand  the  animating  principle  of  the  poem,  it 
behooves  us  to  cast  aside  all  idea  that  these  divi- 
sions of  it  were  a  mere  barbarous  and  cumbersome 
machinery.  Not  in  this  fashion  are  epoch-making 
works  constructed.  Dante  believed  in  the  existence 
of  these  places  and  in  the  reality  of  their  woes  and 
their  joys  as  firmly  as  he  believed  in  himself.  The 
simple  faith  pervading  this  poem  contrasts  strik- 
ingly with  the  spirit  animating  "  Faust. "  The  latter 
is  designed  to  represent  the  innate  conflict  of  the 

1  Rev.  William  Barry,  in  The  Fortnightly  Review,  March,  1886, 
art.  "The  Church  and  the  World." 


136    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

savage  in  man  against  established  law  and  order  in 
the  moral,  social,  and  physical  world.  Mephistoph- 
eles  is  the  evil  genius  of  the  hero.  He  imperson- 
ates the  negation  of  truth  and  goodness.  But  much 
as  the  spirit-world  figures  in  Goethe's  masterpiece, 
it  does  so  not  as  a  living  reality,  but  as  a  mere 
scaffolding  whereby  Goethe  builds  up  the  artistic 
structure  of  the  experiences  gathered  from  study 
and  observation,  or  found  in  the  recesses  of  his 
own  large  worldly  heart.  And  what  is  the  upper- 
most lesson  that  one  may  read  on  every  page  of 
that  wonderful  panorama  of  modern  life?  As  we 
understand  it  we  read  simply  the  dark  lesson,  that 
only  through  the  experiences  that  come  of  all  man- 
ner of  self-indulgence  and  self-gratification  may 
one  reach  the  broader  view  of  life  and  attain  per- 
fection. This  is  attempting  to  make  one's  own  way 
out  of  the  wood  of  error  and  wrong-doing  at  the 
risk  of  being  devoured  by  the  beasts  of  predominant 
sin  and  passion.  The  hero  is  guilty  of  crime  the 
most  atrocious ;  he  brings  ruin  in  his  wake ;  up  to 
his  last  hour  he  is  sensual  and  covetous ;  he  deserts 
not  his  sins ;  rather  his  sins  desert  him.  There  are 
regrets ;  in  one  instance  there  is  remorse ;  but  there 
is  no  conversion.  And  yet,  as  though  in  mockery 
of  the  Christian  ideal  of  personal  purity  and  holi- 
ness, this  sinful  soul  is  triumphantly  borne  to 
heaven  amid  the  song  of  angels.  The  poet  repre- 
sents him  as  saved  by  the  only  saving  principle  on, 
or  above,  or  under  the  earth  —  the  principle  of 
Love :  "  Whoever  striving  exerts  himself,  him  can 
we  redeem,  and  if  he  also  participates  in  the  love 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDTA  137 

from  on  high,  the  Blessed  Host  shall  meet  him  with 
heartiest  welcome" 1  Faust,  like  Dante  in  his 
poem,  is  the  special  object  of  womanly  love.  She 
whose  heart  he  broke  pleads  in  his  behalf  before 
the  Mater  Gloriosa,  and  her  prayer  is  heard. 
Faust  is  saved.  Through  wreck  and  ruin  of  soul 
and  body  he  reaches  the  solution  of  life's  riddle. 
But  surely  the  perfection  of  heaven  is  not  the  sati- 
ety of  self -gratification.  The  will  must  be  turned 
towards  the  good.  It  has  been  truly  said  that  "not 
until  the  Ethiopian  changes  his  skin  and  the  leop- 
ard his  spots,  can  he  do  good  that  is  accustomed  to 
do  evil."2  And  this  has  been  still  more  forcibly 
emphasized  by  St.  Paul :  "  And  if  I  should  distrib- 
ute all  my  goods  to  feed  the  poor,  and  if  I  should 
deliver  my  body  to  be  burned,  and  have  not  charity, 
it  availeth  nothing."  3  Now,  where  in  the  heart  of 
Faust  is  that  charity  that  St.  Paul  insists  upon  ? 
What  charity  did  he  extend  toward  his  neighbor 
except  in  so  far  as  it  gratified  himself  and  was  in 
accordance  with  his  conception  of  things'?  He 
seeks  regeneration,  not  in  repentance,  but  in  obliv- 
ion and  communion  with  Nature.  "Faust"  is  a 
poem  of  selfishness.  How  does  Dante  treat  the 
same  theme  of  struggle  and  salvation  ?  How  does 
he  introduce  the  same  element  of  womanly  love? 
Beatrice,  after  upbraiding  Dante  for  his  sins,  says : 
"God's  high  destiny  would  be  broken  if  Lethe 

1  Faust,  part  ii.  act  v.     Chorus  of  Angels  bearing  the  soul  of 
Faust. 

2  Susan  Blow,  A  Study  of  Dante,  p.  39. 
8  I.  Corinthians,  chap.  xiii.  3. 


138    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

were  passed  and  such  food  were  tasted  without 
the  repentance  that  breaks  forth  in  tears." 1  Such 
is  womanly  love  in  Dante's  conception:  spiritual, 
elevating,  ennobling,  strengthening,  ideal.  These 
characteristics  we  fail  to  see  in  Goethe's  conception. 
To  his  mind,  womanly  love  is  merely  a  blind  love, 
all-enduring  and  all-forgiving.  But  "Faust"  is 
the  world-poem  of  this  century,  even  as  the  "  Di- 
vina  Commedia  "  is  of  the  thirteenth.  Goethe  is 
the  mouthpiece  of  the  modern  world;  the  Middle 
Ages  sing  through*  Dante.  And  as  each  was  a 
child  of  his  age,  the  personality  of  each  is  a  deter- 
mining element  written  into  the  fibre  of  both  great 
poems. 

IV. 

1.  Dante,  as  revealed  to  us  by  time  and  his  writ- 
ings, stands  out  in  bold  relief  as  a  man  proud, 
fiery,  irascible,  the  bitterness  of  exile  and  poverty 
corroding  his  soul  and  dropping  gall  from  his  pen, 
and  withal  humble  and  gentle  and  tender ; 2  a  man 
strong  to  hate  and  strong  to  love,  — 

"  Dowered  with  the  hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn, 
The  love  of  love,"  — 

a  man  sincere  in  all  he  says  and  does,  truth-loving 
and  truth-telling,  sparing  no  one,  neither  himself 
nor  his  friends,  nor  his  enemies.  His  was  a  varied 
career.  He  imbibed  at  his  mother's  breast  the 
traditionary  feuds  and  traditionary  hates  of  his 

J  Purgatorio,  xxx.  142-145. 

2  Witness  the  tenderness  with  which  the  poet  always  speaks  of 
the  relations  of  mother  and  child  (Inferno,  xxiii.  38-4?). 


THE   DIVINA   COM  MEDIA  139 

family;  lie  nurtured  them  and  fought  for  them. 
He  was  acquainted  with  the  ease  and  comfort  of 
wealth ;  he  tasted  the  pleasure  of  having  had  hon- 
ors thrust  upon  him ;  he  was  wise  in  council  and 
prudent  in  diplomacy ;  he  felt  the  shock  of  battle 
and  witnessed  the  carnage  of  war.  He  traveled 
from  land  to  land  studying  men  and  things,  his 
keen  eye  penetrating  beneath  the  surface,  finding 
naught  too  small  to  be  unworthy  of  note,  naught 
too  grand  for  his  expansive  intellect  to  compass. 
He  strayed  from  the  paths  of  virtue  and  drank  the 
cup  of  vice  to  its  nauseous  dregs,1  and  in  his  own 
soul  he  experienced  the  hell  of  remorse.  He  re- 
pented, gave  himself  to  prayer  and  meditation, 
and  even  in  all  probability  to  the  austerities  of  re- 
ligious life; 2  he  relapsed,  recovered  himself  again,3 
and  died  an  edifying  death,  clad  in  the  habit  of  St. 
Francis.4  He  was  exiled;  he  wandered  from  place 
to  place,  an  outcast  upon  the  earth,  tasting  the  in- 
sipidity of  another's  salt  and  the  weariness  of  going 
up  and  down  another's  stairs;6  yearning  to  return 
to  his  beloved  Florence,  which  he  loved  with  all  the 
love  of  a  son  for  a  mother ;  always  yearning,  but 
never  returning,  and  hating  his  enemies  all  the 
more  fiercely  for  keeping  him  out.  How  insatia- 
ble was  his  thirst  for  knowledge  through  all  his 

1  Purgatario,  xxx.,  xxxi.    Para<liso,xv.  121-123;  xxiii.  121-123. 

2  Balbo,  Vita.  lib.  i.  cap.  vii.  pp.  94-98.     The  poet's  familiarity 
with  spiritual  life  could  not  have  been  well  acquired  outside  of  a 
novitiate. 

8  Paradiso,  xxii.  107,  108. 

4  Balbo,  Vita,  lib.  ii.  cap.  xvi.  p.  422.     Pelli,  p.  144. 

6  Paradiso,  xvii.  55-66. 


140     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

troubles  we  have  already  seen.  There  was  no  sub- 
ject taught  that  he  did  not  master:  medicine,  law, 
letters,  music,  mathematics,  painting,  physics,  phi- 
losophy, and  with  great  breadth  and  depth,  his 
favorite,  theology.  He  absorbed  in  all  of  these 
whatever  was  worth  knowing.  In  some  subjects 
he  even  went  beyond  his  teachers  and  anticipated 
modern  theories.1 

2.  Such  is  the  man  as  we  see  him  walk  among 
men :  silent,  reserved,  haughty,  taking  no  liberties 
and  allowing  none  to  be  taken.  Can  Grande  won- 
ders why  the  poet  with  all  his  learning  cannot 
amuse  half  as  well  as  his  buffoon.  Dante  retorts 
with  all  the  scorn  of  his  soul  that  he  supposes  it 
to  be  because  like  is  pleased  with  like.2  Not  after 
this  fashion  does  he  seek  amusement.  Not  every 
man  is  a  companion  for  him ;  and  so  we  find  him 
restless  and  wandering,  writing  his  soul  into  his 
great  poem.3  That  is  a  characteristic  picture  left 
of  him  by  the  prior  of  a  monastery  which  he  vis- 
ited: "Dante  has  been  here,"  writes  Brother  Hil- 
ary; "as  neither  I  nor  any  of  the  brothers  recog- 
nized him,  I  asked  him  what  he  wished.  He  made 
no  answer,  but  gazed  silently  upon  the  columns  and 

1  II  notar  solamenti  i  luoghi  degli  scritti  danteschi,  e  segnata- 
mente  del  poema,  in  cui  1'  autore  fa  prova  di  singular  virtu  filosofica 
e  anticipa  talvolta  i  pensieri  e  i  trovati  piu  recenti,  vorrebbe  un 
lungo  discorso.     Chi  crederebbe,  per  esempio,  che  Dante  abbia  divi- 
nato  il  sistema  dinamico  ?     Gioberti,  Del  Bello,  cap.  x.  p.  238.    See 
Opere,  ed.  Lombardi,  vol.  v.  p.  89.     See,  also,  Tiraboschi,  Vita, 
in  Opere,  vol.  v. 

2  Similis  simili  gaudet.     Hettinger,  Die  Gottliche  Komodie,  p.  55. 

3  Mais  ce  qu'il   raconte,  c'est  sa  propre  conversion.     Edmond 
Scherer,  Litt.  Contemp.  p.  60. 


THE  D1VINA  COMMEDIA  141 

galleries  of  the  cloister.  Again  I  asked  him  what 
he  wished  and  whom  he  sought;  and  slowly  turn- 
ing his  head,  and  looking  around  upon  the  brothers 
and  me,  he  answered,  4 Peace!  '  "-1  Brother  Hil- 
ary takes  him  apart  and  speaks  a  kind  word  to  him, 
and  the  reticence  and  reserve  melt  away,  and  be- 
neath the  haughty  crust,  hardened  by  adversity,  is 
found  the  gentleness  of  woman.  The  kind  word 
and  the  kind  treatment  draw  from  his  bosom  the 
precious  fragment  of  his  great  poem  lying  there, 
and  he  hands  it  to  the  prior  with  the  words,  "  Here, 
brother,  is  a  portion  of  my  work  which  you  may 
not  have  seen ;  this  remembrance  I  leave  with  you ; 
forget  me  not."2 

3.  In  this  manner  do  we  catch  glimpses  of  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  the  great  poem  was  writ- 
ten. The  author  suffered  much;  but  his  sufferings 
purified  his  soul  and  raised  him  out  of  the  transi- 
tory into  the  sphere  of  the  permanent  and  the 
ideal.  They  were  his  purgatorial  fire.  Nor  should 
we  judge  him  rashly.  We  should  be  lenient  to- 
wards the  gall  his  pen  has  dropped,  for  it  has  been 
distilled  in  his  soul  by  the  exile,  poverty,  persecu- 
tion, and  degradation  to  which  he  was  subjected. 
"If,"  says  one  who  reveres  him,  "from  the  dearest 
illusions  of  youth,  wrapped  in  the  halo  of  a  be- 
nevolent imagination,  the  wickedness  of  men  has 

1  It  is  the  same  peace  the  poet  sought  from  world  to  world :  — 

"quella  pace, 

Che,  dietro  a'  piedi  di  B\  fatta  guida, 
Di  mondo  in  mondo  cercar  mi  si  face." 

Purgatorio,  v.  61-63. 

2  Balbo,  Vita,  p.  290 ;  Cantu,  Histoire  des  lialitns,  t.  v.  p.  484. 


142    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

thrown  you  out  of  the  circle  of  your  activity,  your 
affection,  your  early  hopes  and  aspirations,  into 
the  midst  of  cruel  deceptions;  if  you  have  been 
deeply  sensitive  like  Dante,  and  like  Dante  have 
suffered  the  persecutions  of  an  age  that  never  par- 
dons one  raising  himself  above  it;  then,  and  then 
only,  have  you  the  right  to  condemn  his  explosions 
of  wrath."1 

V. 

3.  But  if  the  "Divina  Commedia"  contained  only 
the  ventings  of  private  spleen  —  if  it  were  simply 
the  effect  of  a  mind  seeking  self-glorification,  or 
were  it  merely  an  esoteric  expression  of  some  un- 
orthodox clique  2  —  it  would  not  live  as  it  has  lived, 
nor  would  it  deserve  to  rank  among  the  great  world- 
poems.  These  outbursts  are  the  least  portions  of 
it.  The  poet's  soul  was  too  great  to  be  tied  down 
by  any  party,  or  a  slave  to  any  transitory  bond. 
Reared  a  Guelf,3  circumstances  and  his  convictions 
throw  him  into  the  Ghibelline  party,  but  he  finds 
words  of  rebuke  for  both  Guelf  and  Ghibelline. 
Both  have  run  into  extremes ;  he  knows  not  which 
to  censure  most ; 4  so,  raising  himself  above  both, 
he  finds  the  path  of  honor  in  making  a  party  for 

1  Caesar  Cantu,  Histoire  des  Italians,  t.  v.  p.  516. 

2  Such  were  the  opinions  of  Ugo  Foscolo,  Rossetti,  Aroux.     See 
Csesar  Cantti's  reply  to  Aroux  in  Histoire  des  Italiens,  t.  vii.  p.  531. 

8  Balbo,  Vita,  p.  229. 

*  L'  uno  al  pubblico  segno  i  gigli  gialli 

Oppone,  e  1'  altro  appropria  quello  a  parte, 
'  e  forte  a  veder  qualpiu  si  f alii. 

Paradiso,  vi.  100-102. 


THE  DIVINA   COMMEDIA  143 

himself.1  In  like  manner  did  he  burst  the  bonds 
of  passion  that  held  him  to  earth.  He  walks 
through  exile  and  suffering,  his  soul  dwelling  apart 
from  and  far  above  the  fleeting  and  transitory; 
reading  in  all  things  the  ideal  beyond  sign  and 
symbol;  treading  this  earth  as  though  it  were  a 
mere  shell  whose  mysterious  murmurings  bring  him 
tidings  of  the  sea  of  eternity  and  infinitude  far  be- 
yond; bearing  in  his  heart  a  love  pure  and  bright 
and  elevating,  that  raises  him  up  when  he  has 
fallen  and  bears  him  triumphantly  through  trial  and 
temptation. 

2.  At  a  tender  age  —  in  his  ninth  year  2  —  when 
the  bloom  of  innocence  is  still  upon  his  youth,  a 
glance  at  a  child,  younger  than  himself  by  some 
months,  awakens  in  him  consciousness  and  enkin- 
dles in  him  a  spark  of  love  sweet  and  pure  and 
ideal;  and  the  spark  grows  into  a  flame,  and  the 
flame  burns  clear  and  steady,  a  beacon  directing 
his  whole  career.  He  has  risen  to  a  New  Life. 
The  child  grows  to  womanhood,  marries  another, 
and  dies  young,  all  unconscious  of  the  love  that 
consumes  her  poet-lover.  And  the  poet-lover  also 
marries  other  than  his  first  love,  and  has  children 
born  to  him,  and  grows  in  greatness  and  influence, 
and  becomes  a  leader  of  men  in  his  beloved  Flor- 
ence, one  to  be  relied  on  by  his  friends  and  feared 
by  his  enemies.  Still  the  passion  of  his  boyhood 

1  Di  sua  bestialitate  il  suo  processo 
Fara  la  prova,  si  ch  'a  te  fia  bello 
Avert!  fatti  parte  per  te  stesso. 

Paradiso,  xvii.  67-69. 

2  Vita  Nuova,  ii. 


144    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

becomes  the  cherished  ideal  of  his  bosom.      He 
goes  astray,  but  the  thought  of  the  loved  one  re- 
claims him;  another  demands  his  care  and  atten- 
tion, but  he  communes  with  this  one  in  his  dreams 
and  has  visions  of  her  in  glory.     He  sings  of  her 
in  his  waking  hours.     Her  image  is  the  talisman 
whereby  to  banish  all  unworthy  thoughts  and  de- 
sires.   He  extols  her ;  he  idealizes  her ;  he  embalms 
her  forever  in  his  immortal  poem.     He  identifies 
her  with,  and  makes  her  the  impersonation  of  The- 
ology; and  henceforth  the  name  of  Beatrice  shall 
stand  before  men  as  the  synonym  of  whatever  is 
inspiring  in   love    and  ennobling  in  womanhood. 
The    passion    of    boyhood    followed    her   to    the 
heavenly  abode  in  which  he  fancied  her,  and  waxed 
with  years  into  a  most  ideal  and  spiritual  influ- 
ence,  until  it  finally  ripened  in  the  poet's  heart, 
through  long  and  laborious  study,  into  the  fulfill- 
ment of  his  early  promise  "to  say  of  her  what  was 
never  said  of  any  woman."1     This   spiritualized 
type  of  womanhood  stands  out  unique  in  the  whole 
range  of  literature.     It  is  Dante's  own  creation; 
rather  it  is  the  creation  of  the  Christianity  that  re- 
veres and  honors  the  Virgin  Mother.     Love  was 
the  actuating  principle  of  the  poet's  life.    Not  love 
of  woman  only,  but  love  of  country,  love  of  study, 
love  of  religion ;  and  not  simply  love,  but  love  en- 
lightened and  strengthened  by  a  faith  that  pierces 
the  veil  of  the  visible  and  transient  and  beholds  the 
regions  of  the  spiritual  and  eternal.2 

3.  Dante's   love   for  the   religion  of  his  birth 

1  Vita  Nnova,  xliii. 

2  See  N.  Tommaseo,  L'/n'rrno,  Tnt.  p.  xlvi. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  145 

grew  into  a  passion.  Neither  the  Guelf  hatred  of 
his  youth  nor  the  Ghibelline  hatred  of  his  later 
years  against  the  persons  of  several  popes  ever  for 
a  moment  obscured  his  mind  to  the  truth  of  the 
doctrines  of  the  Church  or  the  sacred  office  of  the 
papacy.  In  his  view,  the  greatness  of  ancient 
Rome  was  decreed  solely  to  render  it  worthy  of 
being  the  Holy  Place  in  which  should  sit  the  suc- 
cessors of  the  Fisherman.1  The  mystical  vine  of 
the  Church  still  grows,  and  Peter  and  Paul  who 
died  for  it  still  live.2  He  holds  by  that  Church ; 
he  begs  Christians  not  to  be  moved,  feather-like, 
"by  every  wind  of  doctrine."  "You  have,"  he 
tells  them,  "the  Old  Testament  and  the  New,  and 
the  Pastor  of  the  Church  who  guides  you;  let 
this  suffice  for  your  salvation."3 

4.  With  this  profound  respect  for  the  Church, 
he  loved  her  ceremonies,  her  dogmas,  her  teachings, 
her  institutions.  He  to  whom  the  heavens  and  all 
that  they  contain  were  symbols  of  the  spiritual  es- 
sences they  veil  could  not  fail  to  grasp  the  poetry 
and  the  meaning  of  every  prayer  and  ceremony  and 
office  of  that  Church  who,  through  whatever  is  in 

1  La  quale,  e  il  quale,  a  voler  dir  lo  vero, 

Fur  stabiliti  per  lo  loco  santo, 
U'  siede  il  successor  del  maggior  Piero. 

Inferno,  ii.  22-24. 

2  Pensa  che  Pietro  e  Paolo,  che  moriro 

Per  la  vigna  che  guasti,  ancor  son  vivi. 

Paradiso,  xviii.  131, 132. 
8  Avete  il  vecchio  e  il  nuovo  Testamento, 
E  il  Pastor  della  Chiesa  che  vi  guida : 
Questo  vi  basti  a  vostro  salvamento. 

Rid.  v.  76-78. 


146    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

and  about  her  temples,  speaks  eloquently  to  men  in 
sign  and  symbol.  There  is  not  a  stone  in  her  ca- 
thedrals that  has  not  its  mystical  meaning ;  there 
is  not  a  garment  with  which  her  priest  vests  him- 
self that  is  not  emblematic  of  some  spiritual  truth ; 
there  is  not  an  anthem  or  antiphon  in  her  offices 
that  does  not  help  to  draw  out  the  beauty  and  sig- 
nificance behind  it  all.  "The  elements  and  frag- 
ments of  poetry,"  says  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  in 
his  scholarly  monograph,  "were  everywhere  in  the 
Church  —  in  her  ideas  of  life,  in  her  rules  and  in- 
stitutions for  passing  through  it,  in  her  preparation 
for  death,  in  her  offices,  ceremonial,  celebrations, 
usages,  her  consecration  of  domestic,  literary,  com- 
mercial, civic,  military,  political  life,  the  meanings 
and  ends  she  had  given  them,  the  religious  serious- 
ness with  which  the  forms  of  each  were  dignified  — 
in  her  doctrine  and  her  dogmatic  system,  her  de- 
pendence on  the  unseen  world,  her  Bible.  Prom 
each  and  all  of  these,  and  from  that  public  feeling 
which,  if  it  expressed  itself  but  abruptly  and  in- 
coherently, was  quite  alive  to  the  poetry  which 
surrounded  it,  the  poet  received  an  impression  of 
greatness  and  beauty,  of  joy  and  dread."1  How 
far  the  poet  made  use  of  the  impulses  emanating 
from  one  and  all  of  these  influencing  agencies  is 
known  only  to  him  who  has  made  a  complete  and 
thorough  study  of  the  poem  embodying  their  inspi- 
rations. Por  we  must  not  lose  sight  of  the  fact 
that  the  poem  is,  in  all  the  grandeur  and  depth  of 
its  mystical  meaning,  made  up  of  the  spirit  and 

1  Rev.  R.  W.  Church,  Dante,  p.  111. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  147 

doctrine  of  the  Church.1  The  spites  and  personal 
animosities  are  but  specks  scattered  here  and  there 
upon  the  whole  surface  of  crystalline  beauty. 
Shining  out  in  pristine  splendor  is  the  Spiritual 
Sense.  Let  us  now  glance  at  the  philosophy  and 
doctrine  underlying  that  Sense. 


VI. 

1.  There  is  a  common  ground  on  which  all  su- 
preme intelligences  assemble.  It  is  the  region  of  the 
Ideal.  It  is  ascended  only  by  the  long  and  arduous 
labor  of  study  and  thought.  There  meet  poetry  and 
philosophy  in  their  highest  soarings.  They  meet 
and  converse  and  stand  upon  the  footing  of  mutual 
understanding.  Poetry  is  permeated  by  the  philo- 
sophic spirit,  and  philosophy  dons  the  garb  of 
poetry.  Few  are  the  souls  assembled  upon  that 
supreme  height.  Plato  and  Virgil  dwell  there ;  so 
do  Shakespeare  and  Goethe.  And,  consummate 
singer,  profound  philosopher,  and  skilled  theolo- 
gian, by  eyery  right  and  title,  as  being  each  and  all 
of  these,  Dante  there  also  has  his  home.  Sweet- 
est of  singers,  he  is  at  the  same  time  profoundly 

1  Dante  cristiano,  cristianissimo  serapre  nel  Poema  e  in  tutte  le 
opere ;  Dante  cattolico  sempre.  .  .  .  Balbo,  Vita,  lib.  ii.  cap.  ii. 
p.  232. 

In  truth,  he  anticipated  the  most  pregnant  developments  of 
Catholic  doctrine,  mastered  its  subtlest  distinctions,  and  treated 
its  hardest  problems  with  almost  faultless  accuracy.  Were  all  the 
libraries  in  the  world  destroyed,  and  the  Holy  Scriptures  with 
them,  the  whole  Catholic  system  of  doctrine  and  mprals  might  be 
almost  reconstructed  out  of  the  Divina  Commedia.  Hettinger, 
Dante's  Divina  Commedia,  p.  234.  . 


148    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

scientific;  his  mental  vision  sees  the  nicest  intri- 
cacies and  the  most  delicate  distinctions ;  eminently 
religious,  he  also  gathers  up  the  fragments  of  an- 
cient mythologies  and  ancient  systems  that  he  finds 
stranded  upon  his  age,  and  pieces  them  together, 
giving  them  deeper  import  in  the  light  of  the  Chris- 
tian mysticism  in  which  he  is  immersed.  "He 
brought  back,"  says  Gioberti,  "the  Gentile  my- 
thology and  symbolism  to  their  source,  rendering 
them  anew  esoteric  and  poetic. " l  He  made  them 
wholly  subordinate  to  the  Christian  spirit,  and  by 
means  of  them  conveyed  practical  lessons  that  are 
balm  to  the  weary  and  drink  to  the  thirsty.  In 
like  manner  did  he  treat  the  science  of  his  day. 
He  made  it  the  handmaid  of  the  great  spiritual 
truths  he  would  impart.  For  this  reason  it  is  of 
small  moment  whether  his  theories  be  superseded 
by  others  apparently  more  probable ;  the  moral  and 
spiritual  lesson  still  remains,  and  still  speaks  to  the 
same  human  heart  and  the  same  human  aspira- 
tions. So  also  did  he  make  use  of  allegory. 

2.  Allegory  there  was  before  the  time,  of  Dante. 
Vision,  too,  was  there.  Such  were  the  visions  of 
Alberic;2  such  the  vision  of  Paul,3  and  many  oth- 
ers.4 The  language  of  allegory  and  vision  was  the 
favorite  mode  of  conveying  spiritual  advice.5  But 

1  Del  Bello,  cap.  x.  p.  214. 

2  Tomraaseo,  L' Inferno,   p.   416.      Discorso:    Altre  vision!  in- 
fernali. 

8  Ozanam,  Dante  et  la  Philosophic  Catholique  au  Xlllme.  Siede, 
p.  473. 

*  Ibid.  pp.  484-491. 

6  Ozanam  calk  attention  to  the  general  analogy  between  the  pas- 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  149 

all  previous  visions  and  allegories  are  to  the  great 
allegorical  vision  of  Dante  what  the  old  plays  and 
stories  out  of  which  our  own  Shakespeare  con- 
structed his  immortal  masterpieces  are  to  those 
masterpieces  themselves.  In  the  one  case  and  in 
the  other,  we  may  trace  phrases  and  expressions 
and  conceptions,  and  even  whole  trains  of  thought, 
to  their  sources;  but  to  what  avail?  The  master- 
mind has  given  to  the  phrase  or  sentence  a  new 
application  and  a  larger  scope,  and  with  grasp  of 
purpose  and  sureness  of  aim  has  reset  sentence 
and  phrase  in  a  sense  in  which  through  all  time 
they  will  be  recognized  as  the  ideal  forms.  To 
achieve  this  is  the  exclusive  mission  of ,  genius. 
And  in  a  marked  degree  was  this  the  mission  of 
Dante.  Critics  find  fault  with  his  occasional 
coarseness  of  diction.  True  it  is  that  Dante  does 
not  employ  words  with  the  view  of  concealing  the 
image  he  would  portray.  His  descriptions  are 
always  vivid.  He  "condenses  aphorisms  into  pic- 
tures, and  sums  up  chapters  of  morality  in  por- 
traits."1 Whatever  there  is  in  his  poem  that  is 
beautiful  or  tender  —  and  much  there  is  of  beauty 
and  tenderness  —  he  expresses  with  delicacy  and 
sweetness  the  most  exquisite;  but  when  the  poet 
would  describe  the  loathsome  and  the  horrible,  he 
makes  use  of  language  best  calculated  to  leave  a 

sage  of  the  soul  through  the  spheres  of  the  Paradiso  and  the 
favorite  titles  of  the  ascetic  treatises  of  St.  Bonaventura :  Itine- 
rarium  mentis  ad  Deum  ;  Formula  aurea  de  gradibus  virtutem  ;  De 
vii  itineribus  ceternitatis.  —  Loc.  cit.  p.  335. 

1  A.  J.  Symonds,  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Dante,  p.  163, 
2ded. 


150   PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

loathsome  or  horrible  impression.  Critics  should 
not  forget  that  elegance  and  prettiness  of  phrase 
are  not  grandeur  and  strength;  that  they  are 
wholly  incompatible  with  grandeur  and  strength; 
that  if  Dante  were  always  elegant  and  pretty  in 
his  phrasings  Dante  would  never  have  been  great 
or  sublime,  nor  would  his  poem  tower  through  the 
vista  of  the  ages  one  of  the  grandest  monuments 
of  human  thought  and  human  skill  ever  conceived 
and  executed.  And  the  secret  of  it  all  lies  in  the 
poet's  intense  earnestness. 

3.  This  earnestness  asserts  itself  throughout  the 
poem  chiefly  in  three  lines  of  thought :  (1)  A  de- 
voted patriot,  loving  his  country,  suffering  for  it, 
and  yearning  for  its  welfare  with  all  the  energy  of 
his  being,  he  launches  notes  of  warning  and  denun- 
ciation against  its  vices,  its  enemies,  and  its  false 
friends,  and  with  invective  the  most  scathing  vili- 
fies all  who  seemingly  stand  between  it  and  its 
well-being.  This  burning  patriotism  has  made  the 
poem  the  great  national  epic.1  (2)  A  child  of  the 
Church,  true  and  attached,  though  at  times  way- 
ward, the  poet  takes  the  liberty  of  a  child  free- 
spoken  and  free  to  speak,  to  utter  words  of  censure 
against  what  he  considers  abuses  in  the  external 
administration  of  the  Church  and  the  policy  of 
her  Pontiffs.2  (3)  Finally,  Dante's  chief  mission, 
the  prime  motive  of  his  intense  earnestness,  is  the 

1  Inferno,  xxvi.   1-10;    Purgatorio,  vi.  75-151;   Paradiso,  xv., 
xvi.     To  understand  the  political  aspect  of  the  poem  it  is  essential 
to  read  the  author's  work  De  Monarchia  and  some  available  history 
of  that  period,  say  Villani  or  Caesar  Cantu. 

2  Inferno,  xix.  88-117;  Paradiso,  xviii.  115-136;  xxvii.  19-66. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  151 

Spiritual  Sense  underlying  his  poem.  This  he  has 
not  left  to  be  discovered.  He  takes  pains  to  in- 
form the  reader.  He  tells  him  that  leaving  aside 
all  subtle  investigation,  the  end  and  aim  of  his  poem 
briefly  put,  both  as  regards  the  whole  and  its  parts, 
is  to  remove  therefrom  men  living  in  a  state  of  mis- 
ery in  this  life,  and  lead  them  to  one  of  happiness.1 
This  he  does  upon  an  ethical  basis. 

4.  The  poet  recognizes  free-will  as  the  basis  of  all 
human  responsibility,  and  the  consequent  amena- 
bility of  the  soul  to  reward  or  punishment :  "  Inborn 
in  you  is  the  virtue  that  keepeth  counsel  and  that 
should  guard  the  threshold  of  assent.  Here  is  the 
principle  whereto  occasion  of  meriting  in  you  is  at- 
tached, according  as  it  gathers  up  and  winnows  out 
good  or  guilty  loves."2  The  argument  of  his  poem 
is  man  receiving  at  the  hands  of  Divine  Justice  his 
deserts  according  to  the  motive  and  nature  of  the 
actions  he  performs.3  Man  passes  from  the  dark- 
.ness  of  sin  and  the  wilderness  of  error  into  the  light 
of  truth  and  grace.  The  poem  is  a  song  of  emanci- 
pation. It  chants  the  breaking  of  the  bonds  of  sin, 
and  the  passing  into  the  light  and  freedom  of  the 
children  of  God.  It  is  a  song  of  hope.  Evil  is  in- 
deed mighty,  and  great  is  the  havoc  it  plays  among 
souls;  but  mightier  still  is  God's  grace.  It  is  a 

1  Sed  omissa  subtili  investigatione,  dicendum  est  breviter,  quod 
finis  totius  et  partis  est,  removere  viventes  in  hac  vita  de  statu 
miseriae,  et  perducere  ad  statum  felicitatis.     Epistola,  xi.  Ep.  ad 
Kani  Grandi  de  la  Scala,  §  15. 

2  Purgatorio,  xviii.  61-66.     See  the  whole  of  this  important  pas- 
sage.    Cf.  Suntma,  ii.  1,  Quaest.  cxiv.  art.  iv. 


152    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

song  of  light  and  life.  Its  tendency  is  upward  and 
onward  to  the  triumph  of  spirit  over  matter.  It  is 
ever  pouring  into  our  souls  to  the  music  of 

"  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 
That  men  may  rise  on  stepping-stones 
Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things."  1 

5.  The  poem  is,  therefore,  practical.  The  thought, 
the  energy,  and  the  earnestness  of  the  whole  age  are 
concentrated  upon  it.  Speculation  abounds  in  it ; 
but  it  is  in  order  that  knowing  all  the  better  one 
may  do  all  the  better.  The  poet  is  careful  to  tell 
us  that  if  he  speaks  by  way  of  speculation,  it  is  not 
for  the  sake  of  mere  barren  words,  but  rather  that 
such  may  tend  to  action.2  The  intellect  is  made 
for  truth;  its  ultimate  perfection  consists  in  the 
contemplation  of  truth.3  The  poet  never  forgets 
that  true  wisdom  consists  in  right-knowing  and 
right-doing. 


vn. 

1.  In  the  development  of  this  thought  we  have 
the  mystical  meaning  and  central  idea  of  the  "  Di- 
vina  Commedia."  It  is  the  drama  of  human 
nature  sinning,  struggling  against  vice,  straining 

1  Tennyson,  In  Memoriam,  i.  1. 

2  Ep.  xi.  §  16.     "Non  ad  speculandum,  sed  ad  opus  inco3ptum 
est  totum." 

3  Cosl  della  induzione  della  perfezione  seconda  le  scienze  sono 
cagioni  in  noi ;  per  1'  abito  delle  quali  potemo  la  verita  speculare, 
ch'  e  ultima  perfezione  nostra,  siccome  dice  il  Filosofo  nel  sesto 
dell'  Etica,  quando  dice  che'l  vero  e  '1  bene  dello  intelletto.     Con- 
vito,  ii.  14,  p.  153,  ed.  Fraticelli. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  153 

after  perfection,  and  making  for  the  Supreme  Good 
by  means  of  Knowledge  and  Power :  the  primary 
knowledge  of  one's  duties  towards  one's  self,  one's 
neighbor  and  God,  and  the  larger  knowledge  of 
the  relation  and  coordination  of  those  duties  in  the 
light  of  philosophy  and  theology ;  the  power  flow- 
ing from  this  knowledge  aided  by  prayer  and  grace 
and  the  assistance  of  the  unseen,  spiritual  world. 

2.  The  element  that  gives  life  to  the  knowledge 
and  makes  effective  the  power  is  Love.  Love  is  the 
inspiration  of  all  knowledge.  Without  love  there 
can  be  no  philosophy ; l  it  is  the  form  —  the  soul  — 
of  philosophy.2  Be  it  remembered  that  philosophy 
is  not,  in  the  intention  of  Dante,  mere  speculation. 
It  is  an  intimate  union  of  the  soul  with  wisdom  in 
all-absorbing  and  undivided  love.3  Therefore  it  is 
that  only  those  living  according  to  reason  can  be- 
come philosophers.  Those  leading  merely  the  life 
of  the  senses  can  know  or  experience  naught  of  the 
mysteries  and  consolations  of  this  true  philosophy.4 
Nor  can  intelligences  exiled  from  their  supernal 
home,  such  as  fallen  angels  and  damned  souls,  phi- 
losophize, for  the  reason  that  love  has  become  ex- 
tinguished in  them  and  malice  prevails.5  Love  is 
the  soul  of  philosophy ;  wisdom  is  its  body ;  moral- 
ity its  beauty ;  such  is  the  underlying  conception  of 
Dante's  doctrine.6  He  recognizes  no  truth  that  is 

1  A  filosofare  e  necessario  amore.      Convito,  tratto  iii.  cap.  13, 
p.  226. 

2  Amore  6  forma  di  filosofia.     Ibid.  p.  229. 

8  Filosofia  e  uno  amoroso  uso  di  sapienzia.     Ibid.  cap.  12,  p.  225. 

*  Ibid.  p.  224. 

6  Ibid.  cap.  13.  p.  226.  6  Ibid.  cap.  14. 


154    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

not  a  ray  of  the  Divine  Intelligence ;  no  good  that 
does  not  flow  from  the  Infinite  Love ;  no  beauty 
that  is  not  clothed  in  the  morality  born  of  the  Eter- 
nal Law.  "The  Alpha  and  Omega  of  all  writing 
that  Love  reads  me  is  the  Supreme  Good  that  con- 
tents this  Court."1  So  speaks  he  in  his  sublime 
vision  to  the  Apostle  of  Love.  And  he  enlarges 
upon  it  in  this  fashion :  "  By  argument  of  philo- 
sophy, and  by  authority  descending  hence,  such 
Love  must  needs  on  me  be  stamped ;  for  Good,  so 
far  as  it  is  good  and  comprehended  as  such,  enkin- 
dleth  Love,  and  enkindleth  it  all  the  greater  as 
more  of  goodness  is  therein  comprised.  Therefore, 
towards  that  Essence  —  so  supreme  that  every  good 
which  is  found  outside  of  It  is  but  a  ray  of  Its 
light  —  more  than  towards  aught  else,  it  behoov- 
eth  the  mind  of  each  one  discerning  the  truth 
whereon  is  based  this  evidence  to  move  in  love."2 
From  that  Divine  Essence  have  come  all  things ; 
to  the  same  should  all  things  tend.  And  as  regards 
man,  both  reason  and  revelation  urge  him  to  keep 
for  God  the  sovereign  use  of  all  his  loves.3 

3.  Nor  does  the  poet  stop  here.  With  depth  and 
force  and  admirable  grasp  of  expression,  he  pene- 
trates to  the  workings  of  Love  in  the  Godhead. 
He  determines  It  to  be  not  only  a  principle  of  Light, 
but  also  a  principle  of  Life.  Here  he  is  mystical, 
sublime,  suggestive.  He  stands  upon  the  highest 
plane  of  Christian  philosophy.  He  contemplates 
the  Trinity  in  the  creative  act.  He  beholds  the 

1  Paradise,  xxvi.  16-18.  2  Ibid.  25-36. 

8  Ibid.  45-47. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMED1A  155 

Triune  Godhead  in  the  bosom  of  the  Word.  And 
thus  the  Word,  which  is  the  central  fact  of  all  his- 
tory, the  central  thought  of  all  philosophy,  the  cen- 
tral germ  of  all  speech,  becomes  for  Dante  the  cen- 
tral Idea  of  the  "Divina  Commedia."  He  says: 
"  That  which  dieth  not  and  that  which  can  die  are 
naught  else  than  the  splendor  of  that  Idea l  which 
in  His  love  our  Lord  begetteth.  For  that  living 
Light2  —  which  so  goeth  forth  from  Its  source3 
that  It  ceases  not  to  be  one  therewith,4  as  well  as 
with  the  Love  5  that  maketh  Three-in-One  —  of  Its 
bounty  6  unites  Its  rays  as  though  mirrored  in  nine 
subsistences,7  Itself  remaining  eternally  One  and 
Undivided.  Thence  It  descends  to  the  ultimate 
potentialities,  passing  down  from  act  to  act,  till  It 
makes  no  further  than  brief  contingencies ; 8  and 
these  contingencies  I  understand  to  be  things  gen- 
erated, which  the  moving  heavens9  produce  with 
and  without  seed."10  The  sum  and  substance  of 
this  sublime  doctrine  is  that  Love  produces  all 
things,  from  the  heaven  of  heavens  and  the  celes- 
tial spirits  down  to  the  least  and  most  evanescent 

1  The  Word. 

2  The  Word,  the  Son. 
8  The  Father. 

4  Ego  et  Pater  unnm  sumus,  Joan.  x.  30. 
6  The  Holy  Ghost,  the  Third  Divine  Person. 

6  That  is,  of  Its  goodness,  not  through  necessity. 

7  In   the    nine  heavens,   or  in   the    nine  motive  intelligences. 
Bianchi. 

8  That  is,  extending  down  from  the  more  active  to  the  less  active 
till  It  comes  to  the  least  existence  in  the  chain  of  created  things. 

9  Divine  Light  moving  the  heaven,  produces  things  generated. 
Tommaseo. 

lu  Paradiso,  xiii.  53-66. 


156    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

creature.  With  St.  Thomas  the  poet  here  holds 
the  influence  of  the  heavenly  bodies  as  secondary- 
causes.1  With  the  Angelic  Doctor  also  he  holds 
that  beings  are  perfect  in  proportion  as  they  reflect 
the  Divine  attributes : 2  "If  burning  Love  disposes 
and  stamps  the  clear  view  of  the  Prime  Virtue,  all 
perfection  is  there  acquired.  Thus  was  the  earth 
once  made  worthy  of  all  the  perfection  of  living 
things;  thus  was  the  Virgin  made  a  mother."8 
In  Dante's  philosophy  the  Ideal  becomes  the 
standard  of  all  beauty.  Grand  vistas  of  thought 
here  open  up  to  our  contemplation;  but  we  must 
not  tarry.  One  remark,  however,  may  be  per- 
mitted. It  has  been  well  said :  "  See  deep  enough 
and  you  see  musically ;  the  heart  of  Nature  being 
everywhere  music  if  you  can  only  reach  it."4  If 
it  has  ever  been  given  to  human  intellect  to  look 
back  of  sign  and  symbol  and  behold  the  essence 
and  relation  of  things,  it  has  been  given  to  Dante. 
And  this  is  why  he  has  seen  so  musically.  He 
sees  virtue  and  justice  and  suffering  all  blended 
in  their  true  relations ;  he  notes  the  harmony  be- 
tween the  natural  and  the  supernatural  orders, 
between  faith  and  reason,  grace  and  free-will,  time 

1  Corpora  caelestia  sunt  causa  inf eriorum  effectuum  mediantibus 
causis  particularibus  inferioribus,  quse  deficere  possunt  in  minor! 
parte. 

Virtus  corporis  caalestis  non  est  infinita ;  unde  requirit  detenni- 
natam  dispositionem  in  materia  ad  inducendum  suum  effectum  et 
quantum  ad  distantiam  loci,  et  quantum  ad  alias  conditioner 
Summa,  I.  quaest.  cxv.  art.  vi.  ad.  1,  2. 

2  Ibid.  I.  ii.  quaest.  iv.  art.  5. 
8  Paradiso,  xiii.  79-84. 

4  Carlyle,  Heroes  and  Hero- Worship,  lect.  iii. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  157 

and  eternity,  the  divine  and  the  human,  and  the 
harmony  fills  him  with  wonderment,  and  its  music 
enters  his  soul,  and  he  sings  it  in  accents  so  sweet 
that  he  who  lets  the  sweetness  enter  into  his  heart, 
may  well  say  with  the  poet  on  hearing  Casella  sing 
one  of  his  own  hymns:  "Still  sounds  its  sweetness 
within  me!"1 


vin. 

1.  That  deep  insight  into  the  moral  and  physical 
world  has  enabled  Dante  to  see  in  Love  not  only 
the  Light  and  the  Life  of  all  things  created  —  and 
even  of  the  Uncreated  One  in  whom  Love,  Light, 
and  Life  are  one  infinite  identical  activity  —  but 
also  the  principle  and  source  of  sin  and  passion : 
"Neither  Creator  nor  a  creature  .  .  .  was  ever 
without  Love,  be  it  natural  or  be  it  spiritual ;  and 
well  thou  knowest.  The  natural  is  always  free 
from  error ;  but  err  the  other  may  by  evil  objects, 
or  by  excess,  or  by  defect  of  vigor.  Whilst  well- 
directed  in  the  first,  and  in  the  second  it  moder- 
ates itself,  it  cannot  be  cause  of  evil  delight;  but 
when  to  ill  it  turns  aside,  or  when  with  more  care 
than  it  ought,  or  with  less,  it  runs  after  good, 
then  against  the  Creator  works  his  own  creation. 
Hence  it  behooves  you  to  understand  how  Love 
should  be  in  you  the  seed  of  every  virtue  as  well 
as  of  every  deed  deserving  punishment."2  In  this 
strain  the  poet  continues,  holding  with  the  Angelic 

1  Che  la  dolcezza  ancor  dentro  mi  suona.     Purgatorio,  ii.  114. 

2  Ibid.  xvii.  91-105. 


158    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Doctor  that  there  is  no  passion,  not  even  excepting 
Hate,  that  does  not  presuppose  Love.1  For,  as  the 
great  Schoolman  teaches,  there  is  no  passion  that  is 
not  moved  towards,  or  does  not  rest  in,  some  ob- 
ject. And  it  is  so  because  of  some  kind  of  har- 
mony or  adaptability  between  the  subject  moved  or 
resting  and  the  object  towards  which  it  moves  or 
in  which  it  rests.  But  Love  consists  in  the  accord 
of  the  one  loving  with  the  object  loved.2  Now  the 
human  heart  seeks  the  good,  yearns  for  the  good, 
loves  the  good,  and  is  content  only  in  the  posses- 
sion and  enjoyment  of  the  good.  This  is  a  pri- 
mary law.  No  system  of  philosophy  has  ever  soared 
higher  than  that  question  every  Christian  child 
learns  from  the  Little  Catechism :  "  Why  did  God 
make  you  ?  —  God  made  me  to  know  Him,  to  love 
Him,  and  serve  Him  in  this  world,  and  to  be 
happy  with  Him  forever  in  the  next."  3  It  contains 
the  solution  of  the  whole  mystery  of  man.  It 
names  the  Supreme  Good  towards  which  tends  all 
Love. 

2.  But  it  frequently  happens  that  the  Supreme 
Good  becomes  clouded  from  man's  vision  and  in- 
tent, and  he  seeks  bliss  in  loving  the  lesser  goods 
that  are  more  palpable  to  his  view.  Herein  is  how 
Love  becomes  the  source  of  all  that  is  sinful  in 
thought  and  word  and  work  on  the  part  of  man. 
(1)  Now  it  is  Love  excessive.  As  such  it  seeks 

1  Summa,  I.  ii.  qusest.  xxvii.  art.  4. 

2  Ibid.  I.  ii.  quaest.  xxix.  art.  2. 

8  A  Catechism  of  Christian  Doctrine,  lesson  i.  "  On  the  End  of 
Man." 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  159 

happiness  in  imaginary  perfection,  or  in  the  praise 
of  men,  or  in  a  sense  of  self-sufficiency  that  causes 
one  to  ignore  one's  origin,  or  helplessness,  or  de- 
pendence upon  the  aid  of  Grace.  This  is  Pride  or 
Vanity.  Again,  this  worldly  love  impels  one  to 
seek  happiness  solely  in  the  external  sufficiency 
that  wealth  can  bring.  This  is  Avarice ;  and  it  is 
at  the  root  of  treasons,  frauds,  deceits,  prejudices, 
anxieties,  violence,  and  insensibility  to  misery.1 
The  same  Love  seeks  bodily  gratification  either  in 
eating  or  drinking  to  excess  —  and  this  is  Glut- 
tony; or  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  carnal  and  sexual 
appetites  —  and  this  is  Lust.  (2)  Now  it  is  Love 
defective.  As  such,  it  is  lax  and  sad  in  attending 
to  things  spiritual,  and  is  known  as  Sloth.  (3) 
Finally,  it  is  Love  distorted.  As  such,  it  grudg- 
ingly looks  upon  a  neighbor's  prosperity  as  an  ob- 
stacle in  the  way  of  one's  preeminence  —  when  it 
is  called  Envy ;  or  it  changes  into  wrathful  feelings 
that  seek  to  be  revenged  for  real  or  fancied  wrong. 
It  is  then  called  Anger.  These  various  forms  of 
misapplied  Love  are  known  as  the  Seven  Capital 
Sins,  and  are  the  chief  sources  of  all  evil.2 

3.  The  poet  takes  these  sins  and  all  the  sins  that 
flow  from  them,  and  holds  them  up  to  our  view  in 
all  their  loathsome  nakedness.  And  he  does  so, 
not  as  a  mere  matter  of  sport,  but  that  he  and  his 

1  Summa,  II.  ii.  Quaest.  cxviii.  art.  8. 

2  Ibid.  I.  ii.  Qusest.  Ixxxiv.  art.  4.      See  Inferno,  xi.  and  Tom- 
maseo's  tract  appended  to  this  canto,  entitled  "  Dottrina  Penale  di 
Dante,"  p.  120.     The  poet  gives  the  genesis  of  the  Seven  Capital 
Sins  on  the  same  line  of  reasoning  with  St.  Thomas,  whom  we  have 
here  followed  in  substance.     See  Purgatorio,  xvii.  106-139. 


160  PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

readers  may  learn  to  hate  them,  and  from  witness- 
ing their  torments  may  get  some  faint  conception 
of  their  enormity,  and  may  be  led  to  exclaim: 
"Wisdom  Supreme,  how  great  is  the  art  Thou 
showest  in  heaven,  on  earth,  and  in  the  evil  world, 
and  how  well  Thy  Goodness  dispenseth  justice  !  " l 
The  poet  transports  us  to  the  Hell  that  he  so  vividly 
pictures;  we  there  are  told  the  dire  consequences 
of  sin  to  persons  and  families  and  peoples  upon 
earth ;  we  meditate  upon  the  dread  lessons  embod- 
ied in  this  song  of  woe  and  wrath,  of  wailings  and 
regrets,  and  our  soul  learns  to  recoil  from  aught 
that  could  break  the  golden  chain  of  Law  and  Love 
with  which  the  Creator  binds  all  his  creatures  to 
Himself.  It  is  a  solemn  preparation  for  the  more 
practical  lessons  conveyed  in  the  other  two  parts  of 
the  poem.  Their  Spiritual  Sense  at  once  becomes 
apparent.  Indeed,  it  is  the  clue  to  their  proper 
appreciation.  For  the  poem  gives  us,  as  no  other 
purely  human  production  gives  us,  "the  solution 
of  the  great,  eternal,  and  sole  problem  of  our  life, 
namely,  deliverance  from  evil  and  final  bliss  in 
God  as  the  source  of  all  Truth  and  all  Love."2 
Let  us,  in  a  cursory  manner,  follow  the  evolution 
of  that  Spiritual  Sense. 


IX. 

1.  The  poet  is  in  the  midway  of  life.3     He  has 
become  entangled  in  the  woods  of  sin  and  error. 

1  Inferno,  xix.  10-12. 

2  Hettinger,  Die  Giittliche  Komodie,  p.  66.          8  Inferno,  i.  1. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  161 

He  is  beset  by  three  predominant  passions  that  are 
about  to  devour  him.  These  are  the  lion  of  pride 
and  over-vaulting  ambition,  the  leopard  of  concu- 
piscence, and  the  she-wolf  of  avarice.  Mary,  Mo- 
ther of  Divine  Grace,  sees  his  plight,  and  foras- 
much as  he  has  venerated  her,  she  does  not  abandon 
him  in  his  peril.  She  sends  Lucy,  or  Illuminative 
Grace,  to  his  assistance.  Lucy  commands  Virgil 
—  that  is,  'Keason,  enlightened  by  her  directions  — 
to  save  him.  As  he  is  about  returning  upon  his 
evil  course,1  Reason  tells  him  that  he  must  take  an- 
other road  if  he  would  escape  the  beasts  and  be  rid 
of  the  errors  of  his  ways.2  He  obeys.  The  jour- 
ney is  long  and  dismal  and  dreary.  Sometimes  the 
poet  is  discouraged  and  desires  to  return.3  Some- 
times he  requires,  in  an  especial  manner,  the  assis- 
tance of  Virgil:  as  when  the  Roman  poet  turns 
him  around  and  with  his  own  hands  closes  his  eyes 
that  he  may  not  behold  the  Gorgon ;  all  of  which 
means  that  there  are  certain  sins  and  temptations 
in  life  that  cannot  be  overcome  by  human  nature 
unaided  by  reason  and  God's  redeeming  grace. 
Such  is  sensuality,  which  hardens  the  heart,  even 
as  the  head  of  the  Gorgon  was  fabled  to  turn  to 
stone  those  looking  thereon.  In  giving  the  figure 
the  poet  would  have  us  look  to  the  spiritual  sense : 
"O  you  who  have  sane  intellects,  note  the  doc- 
trine veiled  beneath  those  strange  verses."4  At 

1  Inferno,  xv.  50-52. 

2  E  non  c'  era  altra  via 
Che  questa  per  la  quale  io  mi  son  raesso. 

Purgatorio,  i.  62,  63. 
8  Inferno,  viii.  100-103.  *  Ibid.  ix.  50-63. 


162    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

times  Virgil  himself  is  unable  to  make  headway 
against  the  powers  of  darkness.  But  a  heavenly 
messenger  comes  and  dispels  all  dread,  and  opens 
the  entrance,  and  forthwith  Dante  and  his  guide 
walk  securely  and  without  molestation.1  They 
find  no  further  opposition.  Indeed,  it  is  only  by 
reason  of  heavenly  grace  that  Virgil  is  able  to  lead 
Dante  through  the  dread  region  :  "  From  on  high 
descends  virtue,  which  enables  me  to  lead  him."2 
Whereby  the  poet  would  teach  that  human  reason, 
good  and  admirable  as  it  may  be  in  itself,  is  not 
sufficient  to  contend  against  the  world  of  passion 
and  the  evil  spirits  that  inspire  wrong -doing. 
Again,  at  times  the  poet  would  rest.  But  there  is 
no  resting-place  for  the  soul  struggling  with  evil 
till  it  frees  itself  therefrom.  We  thus  have  the 
grand  lesson  of  work  and  energy  in  overcoming 
indolence  and  sloth  and  evil  habit:  "It  now  be- 
hooveth  thee  to  shake  off  all  slothfulness,  said  the 
Master,  for  fame  comes  not  to  him  who  sits  on 
down  or  lies  abed;  without  which  whoso  consumes 
his  life,  leaves  on  earth  such  trace  of  himself  as 
smoke  in  air  or  foam  on  water.  Arise,  therefore ! 
Conquer  thy  panting  with  the  soul  that  conquers 
every  battle,  so  be  it  that  it  sinks  not  down  with 
its  heavy  body."3  And  we  have  the  further  lesson 
that  mere  sorrow  of  the  lips  and  outward  observance 
of  the  law,  or  reception  of  the  Sacraments,  will 
avail  little  unless  accompanied  by  change  of  heart 

1  Inferno,  ix.  100-105. 

2  Purgatorio,  i.  68,  69. 

8  Inferno,  xxiv.  46-54 ;  cf .  Wisdom  ix.  15. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  163 

and  sincere  detestation  of  sin :  "  He  cannot  be  ab- 
solved who  doth  not  first  repent ;  nor  can  he  repent 
the  sin  and  will  it  at  the  same  time,  for  this  were 
contradiction  to  which  reason  cannot  consent."1 
Thus,  in  picturing  sin  and  its  punishment  in  such 
colors  as  human  conception  has  never  approached, 
the  poet  is  teaching  us  the  lesson  of  struggle  with 
self,  of  abhorrence  of  wrong-doing,  and  of  striving 
towards  personal  holiness. 

2.  This  is  especially  the  lesson  of  the  "Purga- 
torio."  Before  entering  these  realms  of  hope  and 
sweet  contentment  amid  great  suffering  —  hope  and 
contentment  because  accompanied  by  Love  —  the 
poet  must  first  be  washed  of  the  grime  and  filth 
that  have  clung  to  him  in  the  evil  world,  the  con- 
templation of  which  so  saddened  his  eyes  and 
weighed  down  his  heart.  He  is,  furthermore,  to 
be  girt  with  a  lowly  and  pliant  rush.  "Go  then," 
says  Cato,  "and  gird  this  man  with  a  smooth  rush; 
then  wash  his  face  so  that  therefrom  thou  mayst 
put  away  all  filthiness ;  for  it  were  unseemly,  with 
eye  obscured  by  any  cloud,  to  go  before  the  first 
Minister  who  is  of  them  of  Paradise."2  In  which 
words  is  conveyed  the  wholesome  lesson  that  after 
one  has  been  cleansed  from  the  grime  of  sin,  one 
must  gird  on  the  plain  rush  of  humility ;  for  as  pride 
is  the  chief  of  all  capital  sins,  so  is  humility  the 
foundation  of  all  virtue ;  and  with  meek  and  lowly 
heart  must  one  walk  in  the  narrow  way,  fearing 
lest  one  fall,  and  remembering  that  one  carries 
heavenly  treasures  in  a  frail  vessel.  And  once  the 

1  Inferno,  xxvii.  118-120.  2  Purgatorio,  \.  94-99. 


164    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

soul  has  set  out  upon  the  road  of  virtue  and  right- 
doing,  she  must  not  go  back:  "Let  not  your  re- 
turning be  hitherward.  The  Sun  which  is  now 
rising  will  show  you  where  to  take  the  mountain 
at  an  easier  ascent."1  In  proportion  as  the  soul 
becomes  enlightened  by  prayer  and  meditation  will 
she  find  all  the  easier  the  ascent  up  the  mountain- 
heights  of  perfection. 

3.  It  is  only  through  humble  obedience  in  all 
right-doing  and  humble  submission  in  all  right- 
thinking  that  the  soul  can  attain  the  great  object  of 
this  pilgrimage.  This  is  the  only  road  to  liberty. 
And  liberty  of  spirit  is  what  the  poet  seeks :  "  He 
goeth  in  search  of  liberty,  which  is  so  dear,  as  he 
knoweth  who  for  it  gave  up  his  life."2  He  goes  in 
search  of  the  highest  spiritual  good.  And  he  can 
only  advance  in  the  light :  "  To  go  upward  in  the 
night  may  not  be."3  Only  by  grace  and  mercy 
can  one  progress  in  the  path  of  perfection.  Still, 
freedom  of  will  is  respected,  and  so  the  poet  may 
retrace  his  steps  in  the  darkness:  "Well  might 
one  therewith  turn  downward  and  wander  about 
the  hillside  whilst  that  the  horizon  holds  the  day 
closed."4  The  poet  arrives  at  the  gate  of  purga- 
tion. It  is  guarded  by  an  angel  whose  face  is 
radiant  with  beauty  and  who  bears  a  sword  and 

1  Purgatorio,  i.  106-108. 

2  Rid.  I  71,  72.     Cato  taking  his  own  life  rather  than  renounce 
liberty  is  symbolical  of  the  soul,  destroying  all  selfishness  that  it 
may  attain  the  light  and  freedom  of  spiritual  life.     See  Bianchi's 
Divina  Commedia,  note  to  those  lines,  p.  245,  ed.  1863 ;  p.  253,  ed 
1868. 

3  Purgatario,  vii.  44.  *  Ibid.  vii.  58-60. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  165 

keys.  There  are  three  steps.  The  first  is  of 
white  marble  so  polished  that  therein  the  poet  may 
see  himself  mirrored.  The  second  is  a  fire-burnt 
rock  tinted  more  deeply  than  perse,1  with  a  cross 
through  its  length  and  breadth.  The  third  is 
porphyry  flaming  as  blood  spirting  forth  from  a 
vein.2  The  poet,  striking  his  breast,  begs  for 
mercy,  and  asks  to  enter. 

"  Nearer  now  we  drew, 

Arriv'd,  whence  in  that  part,  where  first  a  breach 
As  of  a  wall  appear'd,  I  could  descry 
A  portal,  and  three  steps  beneath,  that  led 
For  inlet  there,  of  different  colour  each, 
And  one  who  watch' d,  but  spake  not  yet  a  word. 
As  more  and  more  mine  eye  did  stretch  its  view, 
I  mark'd  him  seated  on  the  highest  step, 
In  visage  such,  as  past  my  power  to  bear. 
Grasped  in  his  hand  a  naked  sword,  glanc'd  back 
The  rays  so  toward  me,  that  I  oft  in  vain 
My  sight  directed.     '  Speak  from  whence  ye  stand :  * 
He  cried :  '  What  would  ye  ?     Where  is  your  escort  ? 
Take  heed  your  coming  upward  harm  ye  not.' 

'  A  heavenly  dame  not  skilles%of  these  things,' 
Replied  the  instructor,  '  told  us  even  now, 
"  Pass  that  way :  here  the  gate  is."  '  —  '  And  may  she 
Befriending  prosper  your  ascent,'  resum'd 
The  courteous  keeper  of  the  gate  :  '  Come  then 
Before  our  steps.'     We  straightway  thither  came. 

The  lowest  stair  was  marble  white,  so  smooth 
And  polish'd  that  therein  my  mirror 'd  form 
Distinct  I  saw.     The  next  of  hue  more  dark 
Than  sablest  grain,  a  rough  and  singed  block, 
Cracked  lengthwise  and  across.     The  third,  that  lay 
Massy  above,  seemed  porphyry,  that  flam'd 
Red  as  the  life-blood  spirting  from  a  vein. 

1  Perse  is  a  mixture  of  purple  and  black,  the  black  predomi- 
nating.    Dante,  Convito,  iv.  20. 

2  Purgatorio,  ix.  90-102. 


166    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

On  this  God's  angel  either  foot  sustain' d, 
Upon  the  threshold  seated,  which  appear' d 
A  rock  of  diamond.     Up  the  trinal  steps 
My  leader  cheerly  drew>me.     '  Ask,'  said  he, 
'  With  humble  heart,  that  he  unbar  the  bolt.' 

Piously  at  his  holy  feet  devolv'd 
I  cast  me,  praying  him  for  pity's  sake, 
That  he  would  open  to  me  :  but  first  fell 
Thrice  on  my  bosom  prostrate.     Seven  times 
The  letter,  that  denotes  the  inward  stain, 
He  on  my  forehead  with  the  blunted  point 
Of  his  drawn  sword  inscrib'd.     And  '  Look,'  he  cried, 
'  When  enter'd,  that  thou  wash  these  scars  away.' 
Ashes,  or  earth  ta'en  dry  out  of  the  ground, 
Were  of  one  colour  with  the  robe  he  wore, 
From  underneath  that  vestment  forth  he  drew 
Two  keys  of  metal  twain  :  the  one  was  gold, 
Its  fellow  silver.     With  the  pallid  first, 
And  next  the  burnish'd,  he  so  ply'd  the  gate, 
As  to  content  me  well.     '  Whenever  one 
Faileth  of  these,  that  in  the  keyhole  straight 
It  turn  not,  to  this  alley  then  expect 
Access  in  vain.'     Such  were  the  words  he  spake, 
'  One  is  more  precious  :  but  the  other  needs 
Skill  and  sagacity,  large  share  of  each, 
Ere  its  good  task  4o  disengage  the  knot 
Be  worthily  perform'd.     From  Peter  these 
I  hold,  of  him  instructed,  that  I  err 
Rather  in  opening  than  in  keeping  fast, 
So  but  the  suppliant  at  my  feet  implore.' 
Then  of  that  hallow'd  gate  he  thrust  the  door, 
Exclaiming,  '  Enter,  but  this  warning  hear : 
He  forth  again  departs  who  looks  behind." 

As  in  the  hinges  of  that  sacred  ward 
The  swivels  turn'd,  sonorous  metal  strong, 
Harsh  was  the  grating ;  but  so  surlily 
Roar'd  the  Tarpeian,  when  by  force  bereft 
Of  good  Metellus,  thenceforth  from  his  loss 
To  leanness  doom'd.     Attentively  I  turn'd, 
List'ning  the  thunder,  that  first  issued  forth  ; 
And  *  We  praise  thee,  0  God,'  methought  I  heard 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  167 

In  accents  blended  with  sweet  melody. 

The  strains  came  o'er  mine  ear,  e'en  as  the  sound 

Of  choral  voices,  that,  in  solemn  chant 

With  organ  mingle,  and,  now  high  and  clear, 

Come  swelling,  now  float  indistinct  away."  l 

4.  The  allegorical  veil  is  here  so  thin  that  whoso 
chooses  may  penetrate  it  in  the  light  of  Catholic 
doctrine  and  Catholic  practice.  "  We  need  hardly 
be  told,"  says  one  who  has  written  a  charming 
book  instinct  with  beautiful  thoughts  and  sugges- 
tions, "that  the  gate  of  St.  Peter  is  the  Tribunal 
of  Penance.  .  .  .  The  triple  stair  stands  revealed 
as  candid  Confession  mirroring  the  whole  man, 
mournful  Contrition  breaking  the  hard  heart  of  the 
gazer  on  the  Cross,  Love  all  aflame  offering  up  in 
satisfaction  the  life-blood  of  body,  soul,  and  spirit ; 
the  adamantine  threshold-seat  as  the  priceless  mer- 
its of  Christ  the  Door,  Christ  the  Rock,  Christ 
the  sure  Foundation  and  the  precious  Corner- 
Stone.  In  the  Angel  of  the  Gate,  as  in  the  Gos- 
pel Angel  of  Bethesda,  is  discerned  the  Confessor ; 
in  the  dazzling  radiance  of  his  countenance  the 
exceeding  glory  of  the  ministration  of  righteous- 
ness ;  in  the  penitential  robe  the  sympathetic  meek- 
ness whereby  restoring  one  overtaken  in  a  fault, 
he  considers  himself  lest  he  also  be  tempted;  in 
the  sword  the  wholesome  severity  of  his  discipline ; 
in  the  golden  key  his  divine  authority ;  in  the  silver, 
the  discernment  of  spirits  whereby  he  denies  abso- 
lution to  the  impenitent,  the  learning  and  discre- 
tion whereby  he  directs  the  penitent."  2 

1  Purgatorio,  ix.  65-137,  Gary's  translation. 

2  Maria  F.  Rossetti,  A  Shadow  of  Dante,  pp.  112, 113.    See  the 


168    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

5.  Repentant  and  with  good  resolve,  the  soul 
now  goes  forth  on  her  final  pilgrimage  of  purifica- 
tion. There  is  still  upon  her  the  impress  of  the 
Seven  Capital  Sins.  To  rid  herself  of  the  last  trace 
of  these  is  her  first  endeavor.  And  as  the  angel 
brushes  away  the  trace  of  one  sin  after  the  other,1 
and  the  soul  advances  farther  and  farther  in  the 
way  of  perfection,  she  finds  herself  growing  all  the 
lighter  for  having  got  rid  of  the  burden  of  her 
imperfections,  and  the  more  eager  is  she  to  mount 
to  the  summit.2  Charity  takes  possession  of  the 
soul,  and  she  would  see  all  men  ascend  with  her : 
"O  race  of  men,"  admonishes  the  poet,  "born  to  fly 
upwards,  why  at  a  little  wind  fall  ye  so  down?"8 
He  also  upbraids  us  for  allowing  ourselves  to  re- 
main blind  to  the  beauty  and  splendor  of  things 
spiritual,  and  becoming  absorbed  in  things  earthly : 
"  Heaven  calls  you,  and  revolves  around  you,  show- 
ing you  its  eternal  beauties;  and  your  eye  gazes 
only  on  the  earth,  wherefore  He  who  discerns  all 
chastises  you."  4  We  here  perceive  too  that  in  afflic- 
tion and  trouble  the  soul  has  come  to  recognize  the 
Hand  that  punishes :  "  He  who  discerns  all  chas- 
tises you;"  and  she  accepts  her  trials  as  coming 
from  the  hand  of  a  loving  Father,  and  offers  them  up 
in  expiation  for  past  sin  and  as  a  source  of  merit. 

Dissertation  of  Tommaseo  appended  to  Purgatorio,  ix.  Penitenza 
e  Correzione,  pp.  127-30. 
1  Purgatorio,  xii.  140  sqq. 

2  —  Pungemi  la  f retta 
Per  la  impacciata  via. 

Ibid,  xxi.4.5. 
•  Ibid.  xii.  95,  96.  4  Ibid.  xiv.  149-151. 


THE  DIV1NA    COMMEDIA  169 

6.  Finally,  the  poet  passes  through  the  fire  that 
cleanses  him  whole,  and  Virgil  says  to  him:  "The 
temporal  fire  and  the  eternal  hast  thou  seen,  my 
son,  and  thou  art  come  to  a  part  where  of  myself 
no  farther  do  I  discern.  With  reason  and  with 
art  have  I  brought  thee  hither.  Take  for  guide 
thine  own  good  pleasure;  beyond  the  steep  ways 
and  the  narrow  art  thou.  Yonder  is  the  sun  that 
shines  upon  thy  forehead ;  here  are  the  young  grass, 
the  flowers  and  the  shrubs,  which  the  land  of  itself 
alone  brings  forth.  Whilst  rejoicing  come  the  fair 
eyes  that  with  their  weeping  made  me  go  to  thy 
aid,  thou  mayst  sit  down  and  mayst  go  among  them. 
Await  no  more  word  nor  sign  from  me;  free  and 
upright  and  sound  is  thy  Free-will,  and  it  were 
wrong  not  to  do  its  bidding;  wherefore  thee  over 
thyself  I  crown  and  mitre."1  The  soul  has  con- 
quered. Therefore  Yirgil  leaves  the  poet  free  from 
the  dominion  of  his  passions ;  more  than  free,  a  king 
crowned  triumphant  over  himself;  more  than  king, 
a  mitred  priest,  ruling  the  cloister  of  his  heart, 
his  thoughts  and  his  affections,  and  mediator  and 
intercessor  before  the  Divine  Mercy  for  himself 
and  those  commending  themselves  to  his  prayers. 
Through  speculation  and  through  right-doing  has 
he  been  led  by  reason  as  far  as  reason  can  lead  him. 
He  now  passes  into  the  hands  of  Divine  Theology, 
and  in  the  radiance  beaming  from  her  eyes,  dispel- 
ling many  a  mist  of  ignorance,  he  will  read  profit- 
able lessons  of  wisdom  and  of  spiritual  perfection. 
He  meets  Beatrice.  Henceforth  neither  fear  of 

1  Purgatorio,  xxvii.  127-143. 


170    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

eternal  torments,  nor  hope  of  mere  earthly  reward, 
nor  consolations  of  sense  and  feeling  will  be  his 
incentive  to  right-doing.  Love  alone  shall  lead 
him.  In  the  company  of  Beatrice,  basking  in  her 
sweet  smile  and  receiving  her  loving  admonitions, 
will  he  walk  from  sphere  to  sphere  and  traverse 
the  empyrean.  She  begins  by  showing  him  how 
great  is  the  distance  between  the  mere  science  of 
reason  and  speculation  and  the  high  and  holy 
Light  that  is  now  to  be  a  guide  to  his  feet.  The 
poet  asks:  "But  why  so  far  above  my  sight  flies 
thy  wished-for  speech,  that  the  more  my  vision 
strains  to  see  it  the  more  it  loses  it?  "  And  Bea- 
trice answers:  "To  the  end  that  thou  mayst  know 
the  School  that  thou  hast  followed ;  mayst  see  how 
its  doctrines  can  keep  pace  with  my  speech;  mayst 
also  see  that  your  way  is  from  the  Divine  way  as 
far  apart  as  from  earth  in  distance  speeds  the  high- 
est heaven."1  Henceforth  the  soul  will  tread 
God's  way.  And  in  what  consists  that  way? 

7.  It  is  a  way  not  unknown  to  every  soul  seek- 
ing after  spiritual  perfection  and  union  with  God. 
It  is  the  Way  of  personal  purity  and  holiness. 
Well  and  truly  hath  it  been  said:  "The  only  ob- 
stacle to  spiritual  growth  lies  in  ourselves.  Good- 
ness Divine,  which 'spurns  from  Itself  all  envy/ 
is  forever  shining  in  ideal  beauty  and  drawing  the 
soul  with  cords  of  love.  If  we  do  not  see  the  heav- 
enly vision,  it  is  because  we  are  blinded  by  sin ;  if 
we  do  not  press  forward  towards  it,  it  is  because 

1  Purgatvrio,  xxxiii.  82-90 ;  cf.  De  Imitations,  Christi,  lib.  iii. 
cap.  xxxi.  32. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  171 

we  are  clogged  by  sin."  l  The  chief  mission  of  the 
Church  —  that  to  achieve  which  she  makes  use  of 
all  the  means  at  her  command  —  is  to  enable  the 
soul  to  divest  herself  of  sin  and  become  united 
with  the  Supreme  Good.  In  the  Church  flows  the 
spirit  of  regeneration.  She  is  the  mystical  vine 
perennially  shooting  forth  branch  and  leaf  and  lus- 
cious fruit  throughout  the  ages,  and  in  every  fibre 
retaining  vigor  and  freshness.  Her  mystical  sap 
continues  to  nourish  souls  and  impart  to  them  a 
healthful  and  health-giving  growth  and  develop- 
ment. And  that  mystical  sap  is  none  other  than 
Love  Divine.  It  glows  in  the  heart  of  every  mem- 
ber grafted  on  her  mystical  body.  It  inspires  the 
spirit  of  charity  and  fosters  the  communion  of 
saints.  In  this  spirit  did  Dante  write  his  great 
poem,  and  in  this  spirit  must  that  poem  be  read. 
It  is  the  story  of  a  soul  seeking  perfection  in  unison 
and  harmony  with  the  Church,  by  the  light  of 
Faith,  and  borne  upward  by  the  supreme  law  of 
Love. 

8.  The  scales  of  selfishness  and  worldly  wisdom 
and  earthly  motives  and  measures  fall  from  the 
poet's  eyes,  and  he  sees  things  as  they  are  in  the 
light  of  God's  presence.  The  beauty  of  virtue 
and  personal  holiness,  the  nobility  and  dignity 
of  obedience,  the  exalted  grandeur  of  humility, 
the  great  excellence  of  poverty  and  the  numberless 
blessings  accompanying  it;  the  necessity  of  being 
detached  from  things  of  earth;  the  intrinsic  worth 
of  riches,  honors,  and  pleasures ;  the  wonders  of  the 

1  Susan  Blow,  A  Study  of  Dante,  p.  65. 


172    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Incarnation  and  Redemption  and  the  exhaustless 
oceans  of  grace  flowing  therefrom ;  —  all  these  sub- 
jects, and  many  more  as  well,  are  dwelt  upon  di- 
rectly or  impliedly,  amid  the  music  of  the  spheres 
and  tho  hosannas  of  angels  and  saints,  catching  up 
and  reechoing  in  heaven  the  hymns  and  offices  sung 
by  the  saints  on  earth,  with  a  wealth  and  gorgeous- 
ness  of  expression,  and  a  sustained  music,  bor- 
rowed from  the  heavenly  music  that  had  entered 
the  author's  heart  and  welled  forth  again  with  a 
rhythm  and  a  harmony  becoming  the  sublime 
theme.  This  new  vision  is  of  the  essence  of  the 
Illuminative  way.  The  soul  has  grown  detached 
from  the  things  of  this  world.  She  has  renounced 
sin  and  the  vanities  of  life.  She  has  become 
enamored  of  the  spiritual  goods  of  prayer  and  the 
sacraments.  The  Love  and  the  Light  wherewith 
she  is  filled  diffuse  themselves  upon  her  neighbor 
in  charitable  thought  and  kind  word  and  helping 
deed.  Hence,  she  is  zealous  for  the  spiritual 
well-being  of  her  neighbor,  and  seeks  to  make  it 
assured  by  prayer  and  edification.  She  has  left 
the  way  of  Nature,  "which  respecteth  the  outer 
things  of  a  man,"  and  adopted  those  of  Grace, 
"which  turneth  itself  to  the  inward."  J  She  finds 
comfort  in  God  alone,  and  regards  all  else  as  vain 
and  trifling,  except  in  so  far  as  it  leads  to  God. 

9,  In  this  spirit,  and  animated  by  these  senti- 
ments, does  Dante  move  from  sphere  to  sphere  — 
each  moment  soaring  higher  on  the  wings  of  love ; 
for  in  his  own  words,  "The  kingdom  of  heaven 

1  De  Imitations,  lib.  iii.  cap   xxxi.  5. 


THE   DIVINA  COMMEDIA  173 

suffereth  violence  of  burning  love  and  of  living 
hope,  which  conquer  the  Divine  Will;"1  each 
moment  revealing  to  him  some  new  truth,  each 
moment  adding  to  the  brilliancy  of  the  smile  of  his 
Beatrice  as  she  approaches  nearer  to  the  Fountain 
of  Light  and  Life  and  Love  —  admiration  on  his 
lips,  love  in  his  heart,  and  ecstasy  in  his  soul;  all 
in  harmony  with  that  "harmony  and  sweetness 
that  can  never  be  known  save  where  joy  is  ever- 
lasting."2 The  splendor  of  the  eternal  Sun  that 
illumines  all  the  lights  in  heaven  now  comes  within 
his  vision,  and  through  the  living  light  appears  the 
shining  substance  of  the  glorified  body  of  the  Re- 
deemer, and  its  radiance  dazzles  his  gaze :  "  Here 
are  the  Wisdom  and  the  Power  which  opened  the 
roads  between  heaven  and  earth."3  And  now 
Beatrice  would  wean  the  poet  from  interpreting 
all  things  in  her  countenance,  and  initiate  him 
into  a  higher  state  of  spiritual  life  by  contemplat- 
ing heavenly  things  in  themselves:  "Why,"  she 
says,  "  so  enamors  thee  my  face  that  thou  turnest 
not  to  the  beautiful  garden  which  flowereth  un- 
der Christ's  beams?  Here  is  the  Rose  wherein  the 
Divine  Word  was  made  flesh ;  here  are  the  lilies 
whose  odor  attracted  into  the  good  way."4  It  need 
not  be  said  that  Mary  is  emblemed  in  that  mys- 
tical Rose.  She  is  preeminent  among  all  God's 

1  Begnum  ccelorum  violenzia  pate 
Da  caldo  amore,  e  da  viva  speranza, 
Che  vince  la  Divina  Voluntate. 

Paradiso,  xx.  94-96. 

2  Ibid.  x.  146-148.  8  Ibid,  xxiii.  38,  39. 

*  Ibid,  xxiii.  70-75. 


174    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

creatures.  Her  effulgence  adds  to  the  brilliance 
of  the  whole  heavens.  Saint  and  angel  love  her 
with  a  special  love  and  pay  her  a  special  honor  of 
praise  and  veneration,  their  deep  love  attracting 
them  towards  her  as  the  babe  is  drawn  towards 
the  mother.1  She  is  extolled  with  a  special  fer- 
vor, and  her  name  resounds  with  a  special  en- 
thusiasm.2 

10.  It  were  an  injustice  to  the  Catholic  spirit  of 
the  poem  to  overlook  the  loving  homage  paid  to 
Mary  from  its  first  canto,  when  she  sends  succor 
to  Dante,  to  its  last,  when  St.  Bernard  sings  her 
praises  with  a  sweetness  of  expression,  a  depth  of 
philosophy,  and  a  tenderness  of  feeling  that  have 
never  been  surpassed  in  human  language.  Agnos- 
tics may  not  have  any  sympathy  with  this  devotion ; 
but  none  the  less  should  they  appreciate  its  bene- 
ficial influence  upon  conduct,  art,  and  letters. 
Dante  gave  us  the  lofty  creation  of  a  Beatrice  —  so 
ideal  and  spiritual  —  because  he  was  devout  to 
Mary.  Were  there  no  Virgin -Mother,  of  immac- 
ulate purity,  and  dowered  with  every  grace  and 
every  virtue,  there  would  have  been  no  ideal  of 
womanhood,  such  as  Dante  conceived;  and,  let  us 
add,  the  less  reverent  Goethe  would  have  missed 
in  his  masterpiece  the  central  conception  of  the 
purifying  influence  of  woman's  love,  and  the 

1  Paradiso,  xxiii.  121-126. 

2  Cos\  la  cireulata  melodia 
Si  sigillava,  e  tutti  gli  altri  lumi 
Facean  sona  lo  nome  di  MARIA. 

Ibid,  xxiii.  109-111. 


THE  D1VINA  COMMEDIA  175 

meaning-laden  words  —  "  the  Eternal- Womanly  — 
das  Ewigweibliche  —  draws  us  on  and  upward" 
—  would  have  remained  uninscribed  among  the 
ineffaceable  expressions  of  world-thought. 

11.  The  poet  ascends  into  the  empyrean.  He  is 
now  in  a  transition  state,  passing  from  the  Illumi- 
native Way  to  intimate  union  with  the  Godhead. 
New  and  wonderful  visions  present  themselves  to 
his  admiring  gaze,  bringing  home  to  him  truths 
equally  new  and  wonderful  in  that  resplendent 
temple  "bounded  only  by  love  and  light."  Beatrice 
tells  him  in  accents  clear  and  sweet:  "We  have 
issued  forth  from  the  last  body  to  the  heaven  which 
is  pure  light;  light  intellectual  full  of  love;  love 
of  true  good  full  of  joy;  joy  surpassing  every 
sweetness."1  Round  him  flashes  a  living  light. 
Its  effulgence  at  first  dims  all  vision ;  but  gradually 
its  grandeur  and  beauty  and  significancy  unfold 
themselves.  "The  Divine  Light  first  is  seen  in 
the  form  of  a  River,  signifying  Its  effusion  on  the 
creatures ;  the  living  Sparks  issuing  from  It  are  the 
Angels ;  the  Flowers  they  ingem,  the  Saints.  Then 
in  the  changing  of  the  River's  length  to  the  Lake's 
roundness  is  figured  the  return  of  all  creatures  into 
God  as  their  Centre  and  End."2  Finally,  the 

1  Noi  semo  usciti  fnore 
Del  maggior  corpo  al  ciel  ch'  e  pura  luce ; 
Luce  intelletual  plena  d'  amore, 
Amor  di  vero  ben  pien  di  letizia, 
Letizia  che  trascende  ogni  dolzore. 

Paradiso,  xxx.  39-43. 

2  Maria  F.  Rossetti,  A  Shadow  of  Dante,  p.  272,  in  which  the 
author  refers  to  Venturi  as  the  source  of  this  interpretation. 


176     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Light  Divine  assumes  the  shape  of  a  Rose  com- 
posed of  souls  burning  with  love  and  basking  in 
the  unveiled  Presence :  "  In  form  of  a  white  Rose 
displayed  itself  to  me  the  holy  company  whom 
Christ  in  his  own  blood  espoused."1  And  the 
hosts  of  angels  flit  like  bees,  descending  to  the 
Rose  and  ascending  to  where  its  bliss  abideth  ever- 
more, in  a  constant  tremor  of  love  and  gladness, 
and  dispensing  throughout  the  Rose  the  peace  and 
the  ardor  with  which  they  are  thrilled.2  This 
wonderful  Rose  exhales  the  love  with  which  it  is 
fed,  and  it  thrills  with  the  gladness  diffused  by  the 
threefold  light  of  God,  penetrating  the  whole  uni- 
verse and  making  it  to  smile.  High  up  does  his 
Beatrice  take  her  place,  reflecting  in  dazzling  ra- 
diance the  eternal  glory. 

12.  The  poet  now  enters  upon  the  Unitive  Way, 
under  the  guidance  of  the  contemplative  —  quel  con- 
templante5  —  St.  Bernard.  Benign  joy  suffused 
his  eyes  and  his  cheeks,  in  gesture  kind  as  befits  a 
tender  father.4  In  this  state  the  soul  has  no  fur- 
ther need  of  doctrine ;  she  has  transcended  the  rea- 
sonings and  imaginings  of  men;  she  is  about  to 
enter  upon  the  beatific  vision,  and  who  more  com- 
petent to  induct  her  than  he  who  experienced  it  in 
his  own  life  and  beautifully  described  it  in  his 
book  ?  5  "  This  joyous  existence, "  Bernard  cautions 
the  poet,  "  will  not  be  known  to  thee,  if  thou  only 

1  Paradiso,  xxxi.  1-3.  2  Ibid.  xxxi.  7-17. 

8  Ibid,  xxxii.  1.  4  Ibid.  xxxi.  61-03. 

6  In  his  treatise  on  the  Love  of  God.     See  Gorres,  La  Mystique, 
t.  i.  p.  101. 


THE  D1VINA  COMMEDIA  177 

boldest  thine  eyes  down."1  Whereby  the  saint 
would  inculcate  that  one  must  first  be  detached 
from  things  of  earth  if  one  would  enjoy  the  state 
of  perfect  union  with  God.  But  this  is  not  given 
to  man  upon  his  own  merits;  it  is  a  special  favor 
of  Divine  grace  and  mercy,  and  can  be  obtained 
only  by  earnest  prayer.  And  so,  Bernard  beseeches 
for  the  poet  the  special  grace  of  ecstatic  union  with 
the  Godhead,  through  Mary's  intercession,  in  that 
marvelous  outburst  of  song  that  exhausts  all  that 
can  be  sung  or  said  in  praise  of  Heaven's  Queen, 
though  it  seems  never  to  exhaust  the  admiration 
bestowed  upon  it :  — 

"  Thou  Virgin  Mother,  daughter  of  thy  Son, 
Humble  and  high  beyond  all  other  creature, 
The  limit  fixed  of  the  eternal  counsel, 

Thou  art  the  one  who  such  nobility 

To  human  nature  gave,  that  its  Creator 
Did  not  disdain  to  make  himself  its  creature, 

Within  thy  womb  rekindled  was  the  love, 
By  heat  of  which  in  the  eternal  peace 
After  such  wise  this  flower  has  germinated. 

Here  unto  us  thou  ait  a  noonday  torch 

Of  charity,  and  below  there  among  mortals 
Thou  art  the  living  fountain-head  of  hope. 

Lady,  thou  art  so  great,  and  so  prevailing, 
That  he  who  wishes  grace,  nor  runs  to  thee, 
His  aspirations  without  wings  would  fly. 

Not  only  thy  benignity  gives  succor 
To  him  who  asketh  it,  but  oftentimes 
Forerunneth  of  its  own  accord  the  asking. 

1  Paradiso,  xxxi.  112-114. 


178     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

In  thee  compassion  is,  in  thee  is  pity, 
In  thee  magnificence  ;  in  thee  unites 
Whate'er  of  goodness  is  in  any  creature. 

Now  doth  this  man,  who  from  the  lowest  depth 
Of  the  universe  as  far  as  here  has  seen 
One  after  one  the  spiritual  lives, 

Supplicate  thee  through  grace  for  so  much  power 
That  with  his  eyes  he  may  uplift  himself 
Higher  towards  the  uttermost  salvation. 

And  I,  who  never  hurned  for  my  own  seeing 
More  than  I  do  for  his,  all  of  my  prayers 
Proffer  to  thee,  and  pray  they  come  not  short, 

That  thou  wouldst  scatter  from  him  every  cloud 
Of  his  mortality  so  with  thy  prayers, 
That  the  Chief  Pleasure  he  to  him  displayed. 

Still  farther  do  I  pray  thee,  Queen,  who  canst 

Whate'er  thou  wilt,  that  sound  thou  mayst  preserve 
After  so  great  a  vision  his  affections. 

Let  thy  protection  conquer  human  movements ; 
See  Beatrice  and  all  the  blessed  ones 
My  prayers  to  second  clasp  their  hands  to  thee."  l 

Forthwith  the  saint's  prayer  is  granted.  "My 
vision  becoming  undimmed,"  says  the  poet,  "more 
and  more  entered  the  beam  of  light,  which  in  itself 
is  Truth."2  The  veil  has  dropped.  The  poet  en- 
joys the  ecstatic  vision.  He  penetrates  essences. 
In  that  single  glance  mysteries  the  most  profound 
become  unraveled.  He  sees  the  harmony  existing 
through  all  grades  of  the  universe,  bound  together 
in  ineffable  beauty  and  order  —  their  music  pene- 
trating his  soul  —  and  all  united  in  the  golden 
bonds  of  Love  Divine.  He  sees  and  feels;  the 

1  Paradiso,  xxxiii.  1-39,  Longfellow's  trans. 

2  Ibid,  xxxiii.  52-H4. 


THE  D1VINA   COMMEDIA  179 

sweetness  born  of  the  vision  is  infused  into  his 
heart;  but  language  has  no  word  in  which  to  ex- 
press the  splendor  he  beholds  and  the  rapture  that 
thrills  him.  He  says  :  — 

"  From  that  time  forward  what  I  saw  was  greater 
Than  our  discourse,  that  to  such  vision  yields, 
And  yields  the  memory  unto  such  excess. 

Even  as  he  is  who  seeth  in  a  dream, 

And  after  dreaming  the  imprinted  passion 
Remains,  and  to  his  mind  the  rest  returns  not, 

Even  such  am  I,  for  almost  utterly 
Ceases  my  vision,  and  distilleth  yet 
Within  my  heart  the  sweetness  born  of  it ; 

Even  thus  the  snow  is  in  the  sun  unsealed, 
Even  thus  upon  the  wind  in  the  light  leaves 
Were  the  Boothsayings  of  the  Sibyl  lost."  l 

The  vision  confirms  him  in  good  resolve  and  strong 
purpose.  In  that  blissful  state,  where  each  long- 
ing is  perfect,  ripe,  and  whole,2  his  yearning  for 
the  Good  and  the  Perfect  changes  to  determination 
of  will  to  seek  and  possess  them:  "Already,"  he 
tells  us,  "my  desire  and  my  will  rolled  onward, 
like  a  wheel  in  even  motion,  swayed  by  the  Love 
that  moves  the  sun  and  all  the  stars. v/3  Hence- 
forth the  sole  law  of  his  action  shall  be  the  Love 
that  rules  the  universe.  In  obedience  to  the  Divine 
Will  shall  he  work  out  his  mission  on  earth;  in 

1  Paradiso,  xxxiii.  55-66. 

2  Ibid.  xxii.  64. 

8  Ibid,  xxxiii.  143-145 :  — 

"  Ma  gia  vol^eva  il  mio  disiro  e  il  velle, 
81  come  ruota  che  igualmente  &  mossa, 
L'Amor  cbe  muove  il  sole  e  1'altre  stelle." 


180    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

all  things  resigned  thereto  and  living  therefor; 
walking  through  life  in  the  clear  light  of  Faith, 
with  heart  beating  high  in  Hope,  and  soul  aflame 
with  all-embracing  Charity. 


1.  Such  is  the  Spiritual  Sense  of  the  "Divina 
Commedia."  We  have  traced  it,  a  golden  thread 
running  through  the  whole  extent  of  the  poem ;  we 
have  found  that  sense,  with  the  prophet  of  old,  dic- 
tating the  first  line ; 1  its  notes  resound  strong  and 
clear  in  the  very  last  verses ;  on  it  are  strung  the 
brightest  pearls  of  thought  and  the  rarest  gems  of 
diction;  by  means  of  it  are  all  the  parts  solidly 
welded  together,  and  unity  and  harmony  given  to 
the  whole ;  it  has  been  the  chief  inspiration  of  the 
poet,  sustaining  him  in  his  highest  soarings  and 
dictating  his  sublimest  songs.  Other  senses  are 
to  be  -found  in  the  poem.  In  parts  it  has  its  politi- 
cal sense;  in  parts  it  has  its  purely  moral  sense; 
in  others  again  it  has  its  philosophical  sense ;  but 
the  sense  that  pervades  the  whole,  determines  its 
meaning  and  bearing,  and  makes  of  it  one  of  the 
great  world-poems,  is  the  Spiritual  Sense.  The 
other  senses  are  employed  critically :  to  find  fault, 
or  to  sound  the  note  of  warning ;  to  praise,  approve, 
or  commend;  to  expound  a  theory  or  explain  a 
difficulty.  The  Spiritual  Sense  is  used  construc- 
tively. It  has  built  up  the  poem  into  that  grand 
climax  of  thought  and  aspiration  —  among  the 

1  Isaiah  xxxviii.  10. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA  181 

grandest  ever  reached  by  human  genius  —  with 
which  the  poet  closes.  The  clue  to  this  sense,  in- 
deed every  clue  to  the  poem,  is  to  be  found  in 
the  "Paradiso."  Carlyle  called  this  portion,  to 
him,  "a  kind  of  inarticulate  music."1  It  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at.  The  music  of  the  "Paradiso" 
is  the  music  of  spiritual  life;  and  the  music  of 
spiritual  life  can  be  interpreted  only  by  those  into 
whose  existence  spiritual  life  enters  as  a  living, 
breathing  reality.  It  is  a  music  articulate  and 
familiar  to  each  religious  man.  It  throbs  in  his 
every  aspiration.  His  ear  has  been  attuned  to  its 
exquisite  cadences;  its  harmony  vibrates  through 
the  pages  of  the  spiritual  book  he  reads;  it  is 
reechoed  in  the  sermons  and  exhortations  he  hears 
and  in  the  hymns  he  chants ;  his  whole  life  is  the 
clearest  commentary  upon  this  poem, —  rather  his 
life  is  itself  the  living  poem  from  which  Dante 
has  made  a  marvelous  though  still  imperfect  tran- 
script. In  the  noblest  themes  of  that  transcript 
he  recognizes  echoes  of  the  thoughts,  sentiments, 
and  aspirations  that  in  his  own  breast  are  continu- 
ously humming  unspeakable  music.  The  fervor 
and  love  and  high  thought  that  are  all  so  grandly 
intensified  in  the  terse  rhythm  of  the  "  Divina  Corn- 
media  "  are  the  fervor  and  love  and  high  thought 
that  are  daily  moving  tens  of  thousands  of  men  and 
women  to  lead  the  spiritual  life  therein  portrayed 
in  obedience  to  the  Love  Divine  that  rules  hearts 
and  sways  the  heavens  in  perpetual  harmony.  The 
religious  man  in  sauntering  through  the  vast  aisles 

1  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship,  lect.  iii. 


182    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

and  chapels  of  this  noble  cathedral  of  song,  here 
admiring  a  tender  and  touching  picture,  there  gaz- 
ing upon  a  scene  of  terror  penciled  in  vivid  colors, 
again  drinking  in  the  sweet  and  inspiring  strains 
of  its  clear  organ-tones,  feels  that  beneath  its  sol- 
emn arches  his  soul  may  rest,  for  he  is  at  home  in 
his  Father's  House.1 

2.  From  the  study  of  medieval  thought  and 
aspiration  we  shall  now  turn  to  the  study  of  a  soul 
plunged  in  grief  over  the  death  of  a  friend,  har- 
ried by  the  spirit  of  modern  doubt  concerning  the 
unseen  universe,  and  by  means  of  Christian  faith 
and  Christian  charity,  attempting  to  reach  the 
haven  of  rest  attained  by  Dante  and  Thomas  a 
Kempis.  We  shall  seek  the  Spiritual  Sense  of 
Tennyson's  "In  Memoriam." 

1  The  learned  Dominican,  Father  Berthier,  is  at  present  issu- 
ing an  illustrated  edition  of  the  Divina  Commedia  in  which  every 
passage  is  interpreted  according  to  the  spiritual  sense,  as  it  has 
been  here  outlined,  and  the  interpretation  confirmed,  by  numer- 
ous references  and  quotations  from  St.  Thomas  of  Aquin.  He 
also  throws  light  upon  many  an  obscure  passage,  by  reproducing 
the  paintings,  mosaics,  and  frescoes  that  embody  the  traditional 
meaning.  The  work  bids  fair  to  be  a  minute  and  exhaustive 
study  of  the  poet.  See.  for  instance,  Father  Berthier' s  interpreta- 
tion of  "il  veltro"  (Inferno,  i.  101)  and  the  light  thrown  upon 
this  interpretation  by  his  reproduction  of  the  frescoes  attributed 
to  Simone  Memmi  in  the  Spanish  Chapel  at  Florence  (La  Divina 
Commedia  con  commenti  secondo  la  Scholastica,  del  P.  Gioachino 
Bertbier,  del  Fred.  vol.  i.  fascicolo  1,  pp.  14,  15,  31,  32). 


CHAPTER   X. 

SPIRITUAL   SENSE   OF   IN   MEMORIAM. 

1.  "!N  Memoriam"  contains  one  hundred  and 
thirty-one  lyrics  with  a  prologue  and  an  epilogue. 
These  lyrics,  primarily  commemorating  the  death 
of  Arthur  Hallam,1  are  to  all  seeming  simply  what 
Tennyson  himself  has  described  them  to  be  — 

"  Short  swallow-flights  of  song,  that  dip 
Their  wings  in  tearo,  and  skim  away." 

1  Arthur  Henry  Hallam,  the  son  of  Henry  Hallam,  the  histo- 
rian, was  born  in  London  in  1811.  When  only  nine  years  old  he 
showed  great  precocity  in  learning  modern  languages  and  in 
writing  ambitious  tragedies.  He  studied  at  Eton  till  1827,  and 
afterwards  passed  eight  months  in  Italy  with  his  parents,  during 
which  time  he  became  familiar  with  the  works  of  Dante  and  Pe- 
trarca.  In  1829  he  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  and  then 
began  that  memorable  friendship  with  the  Tennysons  which  is 
embalmed  in  the  In  Memoriam.  He  left  Cambridge  in  1832.  In 
1833  he  accompanied  his  father  to  Germany,  and  on  the  fifteenth 
of  September,  1833,  he  died  from  a  sudden  jush  of  blood  to  the 
head-  His  remains  were  brought  to  England  and  interred  in  the 
chancel  of  Clevedon  Church,  Somersetshire,  January  3,  1834.  He 
was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Tennyson's  sister  Emily.  He  was  a 
brilliant  young  man,  and  endeared  himself  to  all  with  whom  he 
had  relations.  Lord  Houghton  and  Dean  Alford  left  pleasant 
reminiscences  of  him,  and  Mr.  Gladstone  pays  him  this  tribute : 
"  There  perhaps  was  no  one  among  those  who  were  blessed  with 
his  friendship  —  nay,  as  we  see,  not  even  Mr.  Tennyson  —  who 
did  not  feel  at  once  bound  closely  to  him  by  commanding  affection 


184    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

No  doubt  they  so  stood  in  the  poet's  original  inten- 
tion. The  elegiac  part  was  very  probably  written 
during  the  first  nine  years.  In  the  Epithalamium 
the  poet  so  measures  the  time :  — 

"  Though  I  since  then  have  numbered  o'er 

Some  thrice  three  years." 

And  during  the  remaining  eight  years  he  revised, 
recast,  arranged,  and  developed  the  poem  to  its 
present  shape.  "It  is  a  fact,"  says  Gatty  on  what 
seems  to  be  Tennyson's  own  word,  "that  the  poem 
was  written  at  both  various  times  and  places: 
through  a  course  of  years,  and  where  the  author 
happened  to  be,  in  Lincolnshire,  London,  Essex, 
Gloucestershire,  Wales,  anywhere  as  the  spirit 
moved  him." 1  During  the  seventeen  years  that  it 
took  Tennyson  to  compose  and  finish  the  poem,  the 
subject  grew  upon  him,  and  his  intellectual  vision 
extended  far  beyond  the  range  of  a  mere  dirge 
over  a  departed  friend.  He  wove  into  the  original 
lamentations  the  fears  and  doubts  and  struggles  of 
the  age  with  atheism  and  infidelity,  its  hopes  also 
and  aspirations,  and  transformed  dreamy  musings 
of  sorrow  and  the  mere  expression  of  baffled  selfish- 
ness into  the  history  of  a  human  soul  groping 
through  affliction  and  doubt  towards  the  light. 
Tennyson  has  thus  crystallized  the  thought  of  the 

and  left  far  behind  by  the  rapid  growth  and  rich  development  of 
his  ever-searching  mind ;  by  his  — 

" '  All-comprehensive  tenderness, 
All-subtilizing  intellect.' " 

See  Alfred  Tennyson,  His  Life  and  Works,  by  Walter  E.  Wace, 
pp.  24-36. 

1  A  Key  to  In  Memoriam,  p.  26,  note. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    185 

nineteenth  century.  It  is  our  purpose  to  make  a 
careful  study  of  the  poem,  and  by  the  application 
of  certain  solvents  to  test  the  character  of  the  doc- 
trine that  pervades  it.  How  far  do  its  teachings 
coincide  with  Catholic  dogma?  Wherein  do  they 
differ?  What  is  their  intrinsic  worth?  Impor- 
tant questions  these  for  every  Catholic  reader  to 
know  and  to  be  able  to  answer.  We  shall  bear 
them  in  mind  while  discussing  the  nature  and  struc- 
ture of  the  poem  and  the  author's  point  of  view. 


1.  It  is  now  conceded  that  the  structure  of  the 
poem,  as  regards  its  form,  follows  the  metre  used 
by  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury.1     The  poet  made  a 
happy  selection.     This  form  gives  him  great  free- 
dom.    He  is  not  tied  down  to  any  set  number  of 
stanzas.     He  can  always  stop  when  the  inspiration 
ceases.     It  has  become  in  his  hands  a  most  pliant 
instrument  for  the  expression  of  many  and  various 
notes. 

2.  As  regards  its  matter,  "In  Memoriam  "  takes 
color  and  tone  from  the  sonnets  and  odes  of  Pe- 
trarca  upon  the  death  of  Laura.     In  Petrarca  are 
to  be  found  the  same  clear  vision  of  life  beyond  the 
grave,  the  same  hope  of  being  once  more  with  the 

1  Mr.  J.  Comyns  Carr,  Cornhill  Magazine  for  February  and  July, 
1880.     Here  is  a  specimen  stanza :  — 

"  Oh !  no,  beloved,  I  am  most  sure 
These  virtuous  habits  we  acquire, 
As  being  with  the  soul  entire, 
Must  with  it  evermore  endure." 

However,  see  Jennings'  Lord  Tennyson,  p.  125. 


186    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

friend  who  has  passed  from  earth,  the  same  pangs 
of  grief  upon  beholding  scenes  and  incidents  con- 
nected with  the  memory  of  the  dear  departed  one, 
the  same  dreams  in  which  the  absent  one  returns 
and  consoles  the  yearning  friend  —  all  told  in  the 
same  subdued  and  polished  verse.  But  here  the 
likeness  ceases.  Petrarca  had  but  one  refrain,  the 
burden  of  which  was  Laura.  He  envied  the  earth 
that  clasped  her  mouldering  body;  he  envied  the 
heavens  that  received  her  chaste  soul ;  he  was  un- 
wearied in  singing  the  glow  of  her  eyes,  the  sheen 
of  her  hair,  the  perfect  shaping  of  every  limb,  and 
her  graceful  bearing.  He  loved  to  recall  when  she 
smiled  and  when  she  frowned.  He  drew  from  all 
that  is  beautiful  in  earth  and  sky  the  wherewith  to 
show  forth  her  virtues  and  her  perfections.  He 
followed  her  in  spirit  to  her  heavenly  abode.  She 
came  to  visit  him  in  his  dreams ;  she  came  to  visit 
him  in  his  waking  hours.  With  pleasure  and  with 
no  slight  edification  does  the  reader  notice  trace 
after  trace  of  the  earthly  love  drop  from  the  poet 
as  his  thoughts  and  affections  become  spiritual; 
and  when  at  the  close  Petrarca  addresses  that  noble 
hymn  to  the  Virgin  Mother  of  God :  — • 

"  Vergine  santa,  d'  ogni  grazia  plena ; 
Che  per  vera  et  altissima  umilitate 
Salisti  al  ciel,  onde  miei  preghi  ascolti ; 
Tu  partoristi  il  fonte  di  pietate, 
E  di  giustizia  il  Sol,  che  rasserena 

II  secol  pien  d'  errori  oscuri  e  folti,"  — 1 

1  Holy  Virgin,  full  of  all  grace,  who  through  thy  humility,  so 
true  and  noble,  didst  ascend  to  heaven,  where  thou  hearest  my 
prayers ;  thou  didst  bring  forth  the  Fount  of  Mercy  and  the  Sun 
of  Justice,  which  enlightens  this  world  full  of  darkening  errors. 
Canzone  viii,  stanza  iv. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    187 

the  reader  feels  his  heart  lifted  up  and  he  also  would 
have  all  that  is  weak  and  sinful  in  him  consumed  in 
the  love  of  Jesus  through  the  intercession  of  Mary. 

3.  Tennyson  is  no  less  untiring  in  sounding  the 
praises  of  his  dear  Arthur,  the  friend  of  his  bosom, 
the  more  than  brother  to  him,  who  had  he  lived 
would  have  been  one  of  the  makers  of  the  world's 
history :  — 

"  Becoming,  when  the  time  has  birth, 

A  lever  to  uplift  the  earth 
And  roll  it  in  another  course."  1 

But  Tennyson  adds  other  and  weightier  matters 
than  personal  feelings  of  love  and  admiration  to 
the  burden  of  his  song. 

4.  The   lyrics   of    "In   Memoriam"   have   also 
something  in  common  with  the  sonnets  of  Shake- 
speare.   It  was  the  Shakespeare  of  the  sonnets  that 
the  poet  had  in  his  mind's  eye  when  he  wrote:  — 

"  I  loved  thee,  spirit,  and  love,  nor  can 
The  soul  of  Shakespeare  love  thee  more." 

And  that  he  made  a  thoughtful  study  of  the  sonnets 
while  working  out  his  conception  of  "In  Memo- 
riam" is  evident  from  many  a  turn  of  phrase  com- 
mon to  both.  A  surface-reading  reveals  this  much 
in  common :  that  both  series  of  poems  express  in- 
tense love  of  man  for  man ;  that  in  both  is  this  love 
analyzed,  probed,  expounded ;  that  both  ultimately 
assert  the  self-abnegation  of  love;  that  both  con- 
fess to  the  inadequacy  of  words  to  express  the 
deeper  feelings  and  the  true  worth  of  the  object  of 
their  love.2 

1  In  Memoriam,  cxiii.  4. 

2  Cf.  Ibid.  Ixxv.  2,  and  Sonnet  Ixxxiii. 


188   PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

5.  It  is  also  evident  that   Tennyson   read   the 
deeper  meaning  beneath  the  outward  expression  of 
the  sonnets.     For  Shakespeare,  after  the  fashion  of 
his  time,  and  indeed  of  nearly  all  mediaeval  love 
poetry,  infused  into   these  sonnets  a  sense  other 
than  that  revealed  upon  the  surface.    Dante  has  ex- 
plained to  us  the  very  process  by  which  he  allego- 
rized his  love  poems.     The  love  of  Petrarca  will 
also  bear  a  spiritual  interpretation.     The  love  of 
Shakespeare  is  to  all  seeming  certainly  of  the  earth, 
earthy.     But  in  his  day  nearly  everything  in  sonnet 
form  was  expressive  of  Platonic  love,  Platonic  sen- 
timent, and  Platonic  allegory.     Shakespeare  caught 
up  this  spirit,  and  it  may  safely  be  asserted  that 
he  never  would  have  given  his  sonnets  to  the  world 
were  they  not  capable  of  a  philosophical  meaning 
which  redeems  their  occasional  grossness.     "  Shake- 
speare," says  Richard  Simpson,  "is  always  a  phi- 
losopher, but  in  his  sonnets  he  is  a  philosopher  of 
love."1     The  whole  series  represents  the  struggle 
ever  waging  between  the  spiritual  and  the  carnal 
man. 

6.  But  there  is  another  influence  working  through 
"In  Memoriam."      In  June,  1821,  Shelley  wrote 
"  Adonais,"  which  he  had  caused  to  be  printed  in 
Pisa.    In  1829,  when  Arthur  Hallam  entered  Cam- 
bridge, he  brought  with  him  a  copy  of  this  slender 
volume.     It  was  read  by  Tennyson  and  his  circle 
of  friends,  and  so  greatly  was  it  admired,  "  it  was 
then  issued  at  Cambridge,  at  the  instance  of  Lord 
Houghton  (Mr.  Richard   Monckton  Milnes)  and 

1  Introduction  to  the  Philosophy  of  Shakespeare's  Sonnets,  p.  6. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    189 

Mr.  Arthur  Hallam."1  Little  did  young  Hallam 
think  when  making  known  this  poem  on  the  pre- 
mature death  of  Keats  that  he  was  laying  the 
foundation  of  a  similar  monument  to  be  erected  to 
his  own  memory.  But  so  it  came  to  pass.  The 
"  Adonais"  is  not  more  interpenetrated  with  Bion's 
elegy  on  Adonis,  Moschus's  elegy  on  Bion,  and 
Milton's  "  Lycidas,"  than  is  "  In  Memoriam  "  inter- 
penetrated with  the  "  Adonais."  True,  Tennyson  has 
assimilated  few  or  none  of  the  ideas  or  sentiments 
of  Shelley  in  the  sense  in  which  Shelley  absorbs  his 
predecessors.  The  two  poets  have  this  in  common : 
that  each  mourns  a  spirit  snatched  from  earth  in 
the  bud  and  bloom  of  springtide  promise;  each 
finds  in  nature  a  reflection  of  the  desolation  that 
fills  his  soul  on  the  death  of  his  friend  ;  each  rises 
above  his  dream  and  sings  a  paean  rejoicing  in  the 
friend's  triumph  over  the  grave.  When  Milton 


"  Weep  no  more,  woeful  shepherds,  weep  no  more,. 
For  Lycidas,  your  sorrow,  is  not  dead," 

his  was  the  strong  faith  of  the  Puritan  believing 
that  the  soul  of  his  friend  Edward  King  would  sur- 
vive the  decay  of  the  grave ;  his  was  the  Christian 
idea  of  a  future  life.  But  when  Shelley  exclaims : — 

"  Peace,  peace !    he  is  not  dead  ;  he  doth  not  sleep," 

he  holds  views  far  different.  His  is  the  belief  that 
the  soul  of  his  friend  has  been  merged  in  the  uni- 
versal Soul  of  Nature,  and  that  "  he  is  a  portion 
of  the  loveliness  which  once  he  made  more  lovely." 
1  W.  M.  Rossetti,  The  Adonais  of  Shelley,  p.  39. 


190    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

"  He  is  made  one  with  Nature.     There  is  heard 
His  voice  in  all  her  music,  from  the  moan 
Of  thunder  to  the  song-  of  night's  sweet  bird. 
He  is  a  presence  to  be  felt  and  known 
In  darkness  and  in  light,  from  herb  and  stone, 
Spreading  itself  where'er  that  Power  may  move 
Which  has  withdrawn  his  being  to  its  own  ; 
Which  wields  the  world  with  never  wearied  love, 
Sustains  it  from  beneath  and  kindles  it  above."  1 

7.  This  doctrine  Tennyson  considers  to  be  "  faith 
as  vague  as  all  unsweet."    He  believes  that  the  hu- 
man soul  will  retain  its  identity  and  individuality 
through  all  eternity.    He  has  no  sympathy  with  the 
pantheism  of  Shelley.     And  if  in  one  of  his  clos- 
ing lyrics  he  sings  of  his  Arthur  as  a  "  diffusive 
power  "  in  star  and  flower,  whose  voice  is  heard  in 
the  wind  "  and  where  the  waters  run,"  it  is  only  as 
a  memory  ever-present  and  ever-cherished.     In  an- 
other of  his  most  significant  lyrics  he  for  a  moment 
dreams  himself  to  be  such  a  poet  as  Shelley.     Na- 
ture has  grown  sterile,  yielding  only  the  remnants 
of  dead  myths  and  allegories  of  bygone  poets ;  he 
feigns  himself  wandering  through  the  wood  of  the 
errors   of   skepticism   and   pantheism,   wearing  a 
crown  of   thorns,  in   consequence  of  which,  with 
Shelley  his  brow  was  "  branded  and  ensanguined,"  2 
and  he  was  an  object  of  mockery  until  he  became 
relieved  and  comforted  by  faith.3 

8.  Tennyson,  like  Shakespeare,  while  apparently 
dealing   with   personal   impressions  and   personal 
experiences,  rises  to  a  meaning  that  is  of  universal 

1  Adonais,    xlii.    See    Tennyson's   In  Memoriam,  by  John  F. 
Genung,  pp.  32-40. 

2  Adonais,  xxxiii,  xxxiv.  8  In  Memoriam,  Ixix. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    191 

application.  The  love  which  Arthur  inspires  is, 
like  the  love  inspired  by  Beatrice  and  Laura,  chas- 
tening and  ennobling.  .  Like  Petrarca,  the  poet 
lingers  lovingly  upon  the  past  and  recalls  the 
various  scenes  and  incidents  in  which  his  friend 
figured ;  like  Dante,  he  soars  far  away  into  regions 
of  speculation,  and  grapples  with  the  problems  of 
the  age.  Matters  of  religion  and  morality  and 
science  are  all  touched  upon  with  the  reverence 
and  gravity  becoming  the  occasion.  Although 
Tennyson  has  neither  the  grasp,  force,  fullness, 
nor  burning  intensity  of  expression  that  we  find  in 
Dante,  we  may  in  some  sense  call  "  In  Memoriam  " 
a  miniature  "Divina  Commedia."  The  poem  is 
religious,  it  is  mystical,  it  is  philosophical.  To  a 
certain  extent  it  is  autobiographical.  It  is  a  psy- 
chological analysis  of  sorrow  through  all  its  moods, 
from  that  of  an  overwhelming  sense  of  bereave- 
ment which  will  not  be  comforted  to  that  of  cheer- 
ful resignation  soothed  and  nourished  by  Chris- 
tian faith  and  Christian  hope. 

9.  Indeed,  the  poem  may  be  not  unfitly  called  a 
lyrical  drama  of  the  soul.  It  may  be  divided  into 
certain  cycles  or  periods  through  which  run  two 
distinct  currents  of  thought,  namely,  the  emotional 
and  the  intellectual.  The  diverse  periods  are  sep- 
arated by  chorus-poems l  which  allude  to  the  season 
of  the  year,  or  revert  to  the  thoughts  and  emotions 
of  a  previous  cycle.  It  is  only  by  surveying  the 

1  Attention  was  first  called  to  the  existence  of  a  series  of 
chorus-poems  hy  Dr.  John  F.  Genung  in  his  very  charming  and 
very  sympathetic  volume  Tennyson's  In  Memoriam. 


192    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

poem  in  all  its  bearings  that  one  can  form  a  clear 
conception  of  its  real  strength  and  greatness.  Men 
are  only  too  apt  to  rest  content  in  the  enjoyment 
of  particular  fragments  of  the  poem.  An  admirer 
of  Tennyson  writes  :  "  Every  mourner  has  his  fa- 
vorite section  or  particular  chapel  of  the  temple- 
poem,  where  he  prefers  to  kneel  for  worship  of  the 
Invisible."  l  We  shall  respect  the  mourner  search- 
ing through  the  poet's  pages  for  the  expression  of 
sorrow  that  suits  his  mood ;  that  the  poem  can 
soothe  and  comfort  under  such  circumstances  is 
evidence  of  its  power ;  but  it  shall  be  our  task  to 
consider  the  poem  as  a  whole  under  both  its  emo- 
tional and  its  intellectual  aspect. 

II. 

1.  The  poem  may  be  naturally  resolved  into  two 
parts,  and  each  part  may  be  subdivided  as  follows  : 

Prologue. 

This  lyric  sums  up  the  poet's  musings  and  impres- 
sions. It  constitutes  his  final  act  of  faith.  It  is  to 
the  whole  what  Petrarca's  Hymn  to  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin is  to  his  sonnets  and  lyrics  on  Laura,  or  what 
Dante's  last  Canto  is  to  the  whole  of  the  "  Divina 
Commedia." 

Introductory  Lyric.  —  i. 

This  lyric  contains  the  argument  of  the  whole  drama. 

PABT  I. 
Group  I.  —  ii.  -  xix. 

These  lyrics  record  the  poet's  feelings  during  the 

1  Roden  Noel,  Contemporary  Review,  1885,  p.  223. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    193 

period  between  the  death  and  the  burial  of  his  friend 
Arthur  Hallam. 


Group  II.  —  xxii.  -  xxvii. 

In  this  group  the  poet  asserts  and  justifies  his  grief. 
In  xxiv.  2,  the  line,  — 

"  Since  our  first  sun  arose  and  set," 
originally  read,  — 

"  Since  Adam  left  his  garden  yet." 

One  of  the  group  is  speculative  (xxiii.). 
Chorus-poems.     Christmas  of  1833.  —  xxviii.  -  xxx. 
Group  III.  —  xxxi.  -  xxxvi. 

Musings  on  the  life  beyond  the  grave. 

Three  are  speculative  (xxxiii.,  xxxiv.,  xxxv.). 
Chorus-poem.  —  xxxvii. 

The  poet  discusses  the  propriety  of  speculation  upon 

matters  of  Faith.     The  line,  — 

"  And  dear  to  me  as  sacred  wine," 
formerly  read,  — 

"  And  dear  as  sacramental  wine." 

Group  IV.  —  xxxviii.  —  xlvii. 

Surmises  regarding  the  life  beyond  the  grave. 

Lyric  xxxix.  first  appeared  in  the  edition  of  1872-73. 

Lyric  xlvii.  is  speculative'. 
Chorus-poem.  —  xlviii. 

The  poet  would  have  it  understood  that  these  brief 

lays  are  intended  rather  to  soothe  his  own  sorrow 

than  to  allay  the  grave  doubts  proposed  throughout 

the  poem. 
Group  V.  —  xlix.  -  Ivi. 

Gropings  as  to  the  state  of  the  soul  in  the  future  life 


194    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

This   group   contains   many   of   Tennyson's   inmost 
opinions. 
Chorus-poem.  —  Ivii. 

The  poet  would  rest  in  a  settled  peace  of  soul  and  a 
calmer  hope. 

PART  II. 
2.  The  poet  emerges  from  the  dark  weeds  of  his 

first  intense  and  merely  human  sorrow,  and  dons  a 

brighter  and  more  hopeful  garb. 

Introductory.  —  Iviii.,  lix. 

Lyric  lix.  is  supplemental  to  lyric  ii.  In  the  earlier 
poem,  the  poet  indulges  in  a  violent  sorrow  that  would 
not  be  comforted.  In  the  later  poem,  he  asks  Sor- 
row to  live  with  him  as  a  comforter  and  a  help- 
meet. This  poem  was  added  to  the  fourth  edition 
in  1851. 

Group  I.  —  Ix.  -  Ixxi. 

The  poet  analyzes  his  dreams  and  impressions,  and 
makes  surmises  as  to  the  present  relative  attitude  of 
Arthur  towards  him. 

Chorus-poem.  —  Ixxii. 

This  lyric  commemorates  the  first  anniversary  of 
Hallam's  death.  Cf .  Dante,  "  Purgatorio,"  xi.  91- 
106. 

Group  II.  —  Ixxiii.  -  Ixxvii. 

The  poet  discusses  Hallam's  kinship  with  the  great 
ones  of  earth.  The  fleetingness  of  fame  is  touched 
upon  —  even  of  the  poet's  verses.  Cf .  Ixxvii.  and 
Petrarca's  sonnet  xxv.  in  "  Morte  di  Laura." 

Chorus-poem.  —  Ixxviii. 

Christmas  chorus  of  1834. 

Group  III.  —  Ixxix.  -  Ixxxii. 

The  poet  shows  wherein  his  love  was   more   than 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    195 

brother's  love,  and  how  the  real  bitterness  of  death 

is  in  the  interruption  of  communion.     Cf.  Ixxxii.  2, 

and  Dante,  "  Purgatorio,"  x. 
Chorus-poem.  —  Ixxxiii. 

The  poet  begs  the  New  Year  not  to  tarry,  but  to 

bring  with  it  a  renewal  of  hope. 
Group  IV.  — Ixxxiv.,  Ixxxv. 

Musings  as  to  what  Hallam  might  have  been  to  the 

poet.     Lyric  Ixxxv.  takes  up  the  refrain  of  xxvii. :  — 

**  ?T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost, 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all." 

and  touching  tenderly  upon  his  friend's  death,  consid- 
ers the  good  influence  of  his  memory.  Cf.  Ixxxv. 
and  Petrarca,  sonnet  xi.  in  "  Morte  di  Laura." 

Chorus-poem.  —  Ixxxvi. 

Group  V.  —  Ixxxvii.  —  cv. 

Some  of  the  most  remarkable  lyrics  in  the  poem  are 
in  this  group.  Lyric  xcv.  9,  10  formerly  read,  — 

"  His  living  soul  was  flashed  on  mine, 
And  mine  in  his  was  wound  — 

instead  of  the  present  reading,  — 

"  The  living  soul  was  flashed  on  mine, 
And  mine  in  this  was  wound/' 

Lyric  c.  formerly  read  "  I  wake,  I  rise,"  instead  of 
the  present  opening  "  I  climb  the  hill."  Lyric  xci. 
is  a  continuation  of  lyric  xcix.  commemorating  the 
second  anniversary  of  Hallam's  death.  Lyric  cii.  re- 
cords the  fact  that  Tennyson's  family  quit  their  na- 
tive Lincolnshire.  Lyrics  civ.,  cv.  speak  of  Christmas 
—  the  Christmas  of  1835.  But  it  is  spent  in  a  strange 
land,  therefore  held  solemn  to  the  past.  Cf.  Petrarca, 
in  "  Morte  di  Laura,"  sonnets  xlii,  xliv. 


196     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Chorus-poem.  —  cvi. 

This  is  a  New  Year's  lyric,  one  of  the  noblest  in  any 


Group  VI.  —  cvii. -cxiv. 

In  cvii.  the  poet  celebrates  Hallam's  birthday.  His 
sorrow  assumes  a  more  cheerful  aspect.  In  ex.  the 
line  which  originally  read,  — 

"  While  I,  thy  dearest,  sat  apart," 
now  reads,  — 

"  While  I,  thy  nearest,  sat  apart." 

cxiv.  is  speculative.  In  cxiii.  the  line  which  origi- 
nally read,  — 

"  With  many  shocks  that  come  and  go," 

now  reads,  — 

"  With  thousand  shocks  that  come  and  go." 

Chorus-poem.  —  cxv. 

Spring  wakens  in  the  author's  breast. 

Group  VII.  —  cxvi.— cxxx. 

Retrospection.  Lyrics  cxviii.,  cxx.,  cxxiii.,  cxxiv. 
are  all  philosophical.  Tennyson  sings  a  paean  of  joy 
and  hope  that  through  Love  he  shall  not  lose  his 
friend  in  the  future.  Through  Doubt  and  Darkness 
he  has  risen  to  the  pure  light  ok  Faith. 

Final  Lyric.  —  cxxxi. 

This  poem  contains  the  key  to  the  poet's  successful 
struggle  with  Doubt  and  Sorrow  and  his  rising  into 
the  clear  light  of  Faith.  No  amount  of  reasoning 
will  lead  to  Faith.  This  from  a  rational  being  re- 
quires, above  all,  an  act  of  the  will.  Cf.  the  poem 
named  Will. 

Epithalam  iu  in . 

This  lay  was  written  about  1842,  on  the  occasion  of 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    197 

the  marriage  of  a  younger  sister,  Cecilia  Tennyson, 
to  E.  L.  Lushington.  He  is  the  "  true  in  word,  and 
tried  in  deed,"  to  whom  Tennyson  speaks  in  lyric 
Ixxxv.  2.  The  whole  poem  is  written  in  a  pleasant 
key.  The  poet  can  rejoice  with  those  he  loves  —  even 
while  not  forgetting  his  deceased  friend. 


III. 

1.  Such  is  the  poem  in  barest  outline.  In  order 
to  interpret  it  aright  we  should  know  the  environ- 
ment in  which  it  was  produced.  What  was  the 
state  of  thought  in  England  during  the  seventeen 
years  that  Tennyson  was  engaged  upon  this  poem  ? 
In  1833  Arthur  Hallam  died.  In  1833  Newman 
began  to  feel  within  him  the  first  stirrings  of  re- 
form ;  groping  after  the  light  of  duty,  he  wrote 
that  beautiful  invocation,  "  Lead,  Kindly  Light." 
While  Tennyson  was  maturing  his  poem  Newman 
had  run  his  course  in  the  Anglican  Church,  had 
moved  the  flower  of  English  minds  to  great  depths 
of  religious  thought,  and  had  brought  to  a  haven 
of  rest  in  the  bosom  of  the  Catholic  Church  many 
noble  and  beautiful  souls.  Maurice  and  Arnold 
were  influencing  religious  minds  in  the  direction 
of  Broad-Church  liberalism.  The  volume  entitled 
"  Essays  and  Reviews  "  was  sowing  broadcast  seed 
of  infidelity  and  free-thinking  among  educated 
Protestants.  Carlyle  was  infusing  a  decoction  of 
German  transcendentalism  into  the  thinking  body, 
and  weaning  young  men  from  the  spiritual  life  of 
purely  dogmatic  Christianitv.  Strauss  had  forged 


198    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

his  mythic  theories  concerning  the  Life  of  our 
Lord,  and  was  attempting  to  undermine  the  strong- 
hold of  Christian  faith.  Darwin  was  cruising  in 
"  The  Beagle  "  and  maturing  those  theories  that 
were  to  revolutionize  the  study  of  natural  history. 
Faraday  was  making  captives  of  the  thunderbolts 
of  heaven  and  pressing  them  into  the  service  of 
man.  The  spirit  of  political  reform  was  in  the  air. 
O'Connell  had  only  recently  wrung  Catholic  Eman- 
cipation from  an  unwilling  ministry.  Cobden  had 
been  equally  successful  in  bringing  about  a  repeal 
of  the  corn-laws.  The  people  were  beginning  to 
think  for  themselves.  Woman's  position  in  society 
was  growing  in  importance,  and  discussion  upon  it 
was  broadening.  There  was  a  general  awakening 
throughout  the  body,  religious,  social,  and  political. 
It  was  amid  the  eddies  and  currents  of  thought 
set  in  motion  by  all  these  agencies  that  Tennyson 
wrought  out  the  life-drama  of  "  In  Memoriam." 

2.  He  saw  these  various  currents  ;  he  studied  and 
calculated  the  flow  of  some ;  he  drifted  into  the 
influence  of  others ;  but  what  is  his  own  point  of 
view  upon  the  great  issue  of  life  and  death  that  is 
the  burden  of  his  poem  ?  To  begin  with,  greatly 
as  he  admires  and  exults  in  the  progress  of  the  age, 
he  does  not  find  mere  knowledge  the  road  to  all 
excellence.  He  can  solve  more  problems  of  life  by 
making  appeal  to  Christian  faith  and  to  the  pri- 
mary instincts  of  the  human  heart,  rather  than  by 
mere  speculation.  He  distinguishes  between  know- 
ledge and  the  deeper  wisdom  that  regulates  intel- 
lect and  heart  and  conduct.  The  distinction  is 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    199 

fundamental  with  Tennyson.  He  had  already 
written : 

"  Knowledge  comes,  but  Wisdom  lingers,  and  he  bears  a  laden 

breast, 
Full  of  sad  experience,  moving  towards  the  stillness  of  his  rest." 1 

In  the  present  poem  he  shows  how  worse  than  help- 
less —  how  destructive  —  is  knowledge  without  wis- 
dom. He  looks  upon  it  as  a  thing 

"  Half -grown  as  yet,  a  child,  and  vain  — 
She  cannot  fight  the  fear  of  death. 
What  is  she,  cut  from  love  and  faith, 
But  some  wild  Pallas  from  the  brain 

"  Of  Demons  ?  fiery-hot  to  burst 
All  barriers  in  her  onward  race 
For  power.     Let  her  know  her  place  ; 
She  is  the  second,  not  the  first. 


"  For  she  is  earthly  of  the  mind. 

But  Wisdom  heavenly  of  the  soul"2 

In  these  words  we  have  the  clue  to  Tennyson's  at- 
titude towards  all  speculation.  Though  placing 
knowledge  second,  the  poet  does  not  belittle  it. 

"  Who  loves  not  Knowledge  ?     Who  shall  rail 
Against  her  beauty  ?     May  she  mix 
With  men  and  prosper !     Who  shall  fix 
Her  pillars  ?     Let  her  work  prevail." 

Herein  he  differs  from  his  great  contemporary  and 
brother  poet,  with  whom  all  knowledge  is  only  a 
thing  relative,  and  who  holds  that  what  man  calls 
knowledge  to-day,  he  may  call  ignorance  to-morrow. 

1  Locksley  Hall. 

2  In  Memoriam,  cxiv.  2,  3,  5. 


200    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

"  Ignorance  overwraps  his  moral  sense, 
Winds  him  about,  relaxing,  as  it  wraps, 
So  much  and  no  more  than  lets  through  perhaps, 
The  murmured  knowledge  — '  Ignorance  exists.'  "  1 

3.  Another  fundamental  doctrine  in  the  poet's 
creed  is  that  in  the  relations  of  good  to  evil  all 
things  shall  turn  to  good.  He  says  :  — 

"  Oh  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill."  2 

Is  not  this  also  the  teaching  of  Browning? 
Does  he  not  tell  us  that  somehow,  through  ways 
and  means  that  are  beyond  our  ken,  all  will  end 
for  the  best? 

"  My  own  hope  is  a  sun  will  pierce 
The  thickest  cloud  earth  ever  stretched ; 

That  after  Last  returns  the  First, 
Though  a  wide  compass  round  be  fetched ; 

That  what  began  best,  can't  end  worst, 
Nor  what  God  blessed  once,  prove  accurst."8 

This  doctrine  of  the  ultimate  triumph  of  good 
over  evil  is  with  Tennyson  not  a  dogma,  but  a  trust, 
an  instinctive  feeling,  a  hope.  He  does  not  know ; 
he  is  not  sure  :  — 

"  Behold,  we  know  not  anything ; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 

At  last  —  far  off  —  at  last,  to  all, 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring."  * 

And  with  touching  pathos  he  thus  alludes  to 
man's  helplessness  in  the  presence  of  this  great 
mystery :  — 

1  Browning,  Parleyings  with  Certain  People  (Francis  Furini). 

2  In  Memoriam,  liv.  1.  8  Apparent  Failure. 
*  In  Memoriam,  liv.  4. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  ME  MORI  AM    201 

"  So  runs  my  dream  :  but  what  am  I  ? 

An  infant  crying  in  the  night : 

An  infant  crying  for  the  light  : 

And  with  no  language  hut  a  cry."  * 

4.  It  is  evident  to  the  poet  that  everything  in 
life  has  an  aim,  which  it  has,  and  that  nothing  in 
life  misses  its  aim,  which  were  true  did  each  of 
God's  creatures  act  according  to  the  laws  and  limi- 
tations set  down  by  the  Creator  in  pursuing  its 
aim.  But  the  human  will  enters  into  all  calcula- 
tions of  human  action.  And  that  will  is  free.  The 
poet  had  stated,  as  one  of  the  mysteries  of  our  na- 
ture for  which  we  cannot  account,  that  our  wills 
are  ours  to  make  them  one  with  the  will  of  God. 
Now  while  wills  are  free  and  at  the  same  time 
prone  to  evil  —  and  we  all  of  us  know  that  we  are 
free  to  do  right  or  wrong  —  there  must  needs  be 
deviations  from  the  well-known  and  clearly  form- 
ulated will  of  God,  and  therefore  from  the  ulti- 
mate aim  of  the  Supreme  Good  for  which  all  men 
were  created.  So  great,  so  awful  is  the  respect 
in  which  God  holds  man's  will,  He  even  permits 
man  to  damn  himself  rather  than  that  by  Divine 
omnipotent  interference  man's  free  will  should  be 
destroyed. 

"  The  greatest  gift  that  in  his  largess  God 

Creating  made,  and  unto  his  own  goodness 
Nearest  conformed,  and  that  which  He  doth  prize 

Most  highly,  is  the  freedom  of  the  will, 
Wherewith  the  creatures  of  intelligence 
Both  all  and  only  were  and  are  endowed."  2 

1  In  Memoriam,  liv.  5. 

2  Dante,  Paradiso,  v.  19-24,  Longfellow's  translation. 


202    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

5.  The  half-truth  that  vice  forms  an  essential 
part  of  human  progress,  that  good  is  reached 
through  evil,  upon  which  Browning  bases  his  op- 
timism, we  know  to  have  been  derived  from  the 
half-truth  of  Bernard  de  Mandeville's  "Fable  of 
the  Bees."  Browning  tells  us  as  much.  Address- 
ing Mandeville,  he  says :  — 

'*  As  with  body  so  deals  law  with  soul 

That 's  stung  to  strength  through  weakness,  strives  for  good 
Through  evil,  —  earth  its  race-ground,  heaven  its  goal, 
Presumably :  so  far  I  understood 
Thy  teaching  long  ago."  1 

We  cannot  so  easily  lay  finger  upon  the  original 
of  the  optimism  of  Tennyson.  But  we  can  trace  a 
close  relationship  between  his  views  and  the  teach- 
ings of  his  friend  Frederick  Denison  Maurice. 
Both  breathing  the  same  intellectual  atmosphere 
and  thinking  in  the  same  tone  and  temper,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  there  should  be  a  kinship  in  their 
ideas.  We  can  best  illustrate  this  kinship  by  the 
following  parallel  passages.  Speaking  of  man's  in- 
adequacy to  grasp  God's  purposes  and  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  man's  theories  and  systems,  Maurice  says : 
"  The  old  proclamation  of  a  divine  kingdom  .  .  . 
is  not  in  any  sense  whatever  our  scheme  or  theory 
of  the  Universe,  but  is  sent  to  confound,  to  break 
in  pieces  our  theories  of  the  Universe,  to  show  how 
feeble  and  contemptible  we  and  our  theories  are  ; 
what  absolute  need  all  creatures  have  of  a  Living 
God,  who  will  reveal  to  us  himself  ;  what  relation 
there  is  between  us  and  Him  ;  how  He  works  in  us 
1  Parleyings  with  Certain  People  (Bernard  de  Mandeville). 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    203 

to  bring  us  to  know  his  purposes,  and  to  move  in 
accordance  with  them"  In  another  place  he  would 
have  us  "  look  out  upon  the  world,  and  see  a  valley 
covered  with  dry  bones  of  different  systems.'"  And 
farther  on  in  the  same  lecture,  he  speaks  of  our 
obligations  to  infidels,  "  if  they  have  been  employed 
to  convince  us  that  human  systems  must  indeed 
perish,  one  and  all)  that  what  survives  must  be 
something  of  a  higher  derivation,  of  a  more  eternal 
character."  l  Two  years  later  Tennyson  crystallized 
the  underlying  idea  of  these  extracts  in  lines  which 
are  now  memorable  :  — 

"  Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how ; 
Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  thine. 

"  Our  little  systems  have  their  day ; 

They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be : 
They  are  but  broken  lights  of  thee, 
And  thou,  O  Lord,  art  more  than  they."  2 

6.  From  the  teachings  of  Maurice,  Tennyson 
learned  to  tone  down  all  dogma  to  the  haziness  of 
Universalism.  Therein  did  he  find  confirmed  his 
conviction  that  nothing  is  without  a  purpose,  and 
that  that  purpose  must  needs  be  good.  Therein 
did  he  imbibe  a  conception  of  the  Incarnation,  half 
Christian,  half  pantheistic.  Therein  he  found 
"  Christianity  translated  out  of  time  into  eternity," 
—  to  use  an  admirable  phrase  of  Dr.  Martineau ; 
he  found  the  kingdom  of  God  operating  in  the 
hearts  of  men,  leavening  the  human  race  and  lead- 

1  The  Religions  of  the  World,  lect.  viii.  pp.  247,  248,  257.    Lon- 
don, 1847. 

2  In  Memoriam,  Prologue,  4,  5. 


204    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

ing  it  to   a   higher   life ;  he   read   that   "  all   the 
higher  human  relations  are  but  faint  echoes  of  re- 
lations already  existing  in  an  infinitely  more  perfect 
form  in  the  divine  mind."     It  is  a  religious  theory 
that   appeals   strongly  to   the   poetic  fancy.     "  It 
may  seem  paradoxical,"  says  Dr.  Martineau,  "  yet 
it  is  hardly  hazardous,  to  say  that  the  Maurice  the- 
ology owes  its  power  not  less  to  its  indulgence  than 
to  its  correction  of  the  pantheistic  tendency  of  the 
age.    It  answers  the  demand  of  every  ideal  philoso- 
phy and  every  poetic   soul  for  an  indwelling  Di- 
vine Presence,  living  and  acting  in  all  the  beauty  of 
the  world  and  the  good  of  human  hearts."  1     Such 
a   theology,  while   preserving   the   distinction   be- 
tween right  and  wrong  and  recognizing  God  as  a 
Righteous  Will,  can  still  hold  out  the  hope  and 
lay  to  the  human  soul  the  flattering  unction  that 
somehow  all  will  ultimately  end  in  a  reign  of  uni- 
versal good.     The  poverty  and  squalor,  the  misery 
and  suffering,  the  heart-aches  and  the  soul-pangs 
that  devour  the  large  majority  of  humanity,  are 
only  slightly  scanned  in  the  glamour  of  this  sooth- 
ing philosophy,  from  the  elevated  plane  of  com- 
fort  and  culture  and  well-being   on  which  Fred- 
erick Maurice  and  his  friends  stand.     And  here  is 
where  Tennyson  has  taken  refuge.  He  recoiled  from 
the  pessimism  that  had  been  broadening  and  deep- 
ening  at  the  time  that  his  mind  was  subject  to 
formative  influences.     Therefore  is  he  the  poet  of 
progress  —  in  Browning's  own  trenchant  words :  — 

1  Introductory  chapter  to  Taylor's  Religious  Life  of  England, 
p.  9. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    205 

"Progress,  man's  distinctive  mark  alone, 
Not  God's  and  not  the  beasts'  ;  God  is,  they  are, 
Man  partly  is  and  wholly  hopes  to  be." 

7.  Tennyson's  conception  of  progress  is  distinct 
from  that  of  Browning.  To  Browning's  mind  pro- 
gress is  a  development  of  every  human  instinct  and 
impulse  ;  but  the  characteristic  of  i^is  development 
is  that  the  more  highly  wrought  instinct  or  impulse 
becomes,  the  less  satisfaction  accompanies  its  exer- 
cise. It  is  a  progress  of  aspiration  unfulfilled  and 
of  desire  ungratified  —  a  seeking  after  the  infinite 
and  never  reaching  the  goal.  Tennyson's  idea  of 
progress  is  one  in  which  the  soul  advances  to  greater 
serenity  and  contentment  in  attune  with  the  growth 
of  the  ages  in  knowledge  and  wisdom  and  the 
higher  law.  "  His  imagination,"  says  Professor 
Dowden,  "  dwells  with  a  broad  and  tranquil  plea- 
sure upon  whatever  is  justified  by  the  intellect  and 
the  conscience,  and  continuously  energetic  within 
determined  bounds."  1  He  holds  a  personal  growth 
in  each  one  from  the  purely  animal,  moving  upward, 
"  working  out  the  beast,"  to  a  higher  spiritual  life.2 
He  holds  a  growth  in  national  well-being,  not  indeed 
with  Shelley  through  the  revolutionary  spirit  — 
"the  red  fool-fury  of  the  Seine" — but  as  the  out- 
come of  a  gradual  ei^blution  till  the  millennium,  — 

"  When  the  war-drums  throb  no  longer,  and  the  battle-flags  are 

furled, 
In  the  Parliament  of  man,  the  federation  of  the  world." 

He  holds    a   universal  progress   of   the  world   in 
science  and  art,  and  he  looks  forward  to  the  time 

1  Studies  in  Literature,  p.  113.  2  In  Memoriam,  cxviii.  7. 


206     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

when  a  crowning  race  shall  reap  the  fruit  of  all  we 
did  and  suffered.  1 

8.  This  optimistic  teaching  of  Tennyson  and 
Browning  and  Maurice,  with  all  its  shades  of  differ- 
ence, is  of  ancient  date.  We  find  that  consciously 
or  unconsciously  —  probably  unconsciously  —  they 
have  been  transcribing  a  leaf  out  of  a  very  old  book 
which  has  exercised  great  influence  upon  thought, 
especially  as  popularized  by  Marsilius  Ficino  and 
Reuchlin  at  the  Renaissance.  According  to  that 
old  book  there  is  nothing  absolutely  bad.  Nothing 
is  accursed  forever,  not  even  the  archangel  of  evil. 
A  time  will  come  when  God  shall  restore  him  his 
angelic  nature  and  the  good  name  and  standing 
which  he  once  bore  in  heaven.  Hell  also  shall  dis- 
appear and  shall  be  transformed  into  a  place  of  de- 
lights ;  for  at  the  end  of  all  time  there  shall  be 
neither  chastisements,  nor  trials,  nor  troubles,  nor 
guilty  persons;  life  shall  be  an  eternal  feast,  an 
endless  Sabbath.  This  picture  is  almost  a  literal 
transcript  from  the  teachings  of  the  Cabala.  Is  it 
not  also  the  doctrine  of  that  modified  Universalism 
which  still  retains  the  distinction  between  good  and 
evil  and  believes  in  a  temporary  state  of  retribu- 
tion ?  2  From  the  point  of  view  of  the  author  we 
now  pass  to  the  poem  itself.  * 

1  Epithalamium,  33. 

2  See  Ad.  Franck,  Dictionnaire  des  Sciences  Philosophiques,  p. 
803.     The  chief  doctrines  of  the  Cabala  are  to  be  found  in  the 
volume  known  as  Zohar.     This  book  is  written  in  the  form  of  a 
commentary  on  the  Pentateuch.     In  its  present  shape  it  is  a  com- 
pilation of  the   thirteenth   century;  but   many   of   its   doctrines 
ascend  to  Plato  (e.  g.  the  division  of  the  soul ;  cf.  Symposium),  the 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    207 


IV. 

1.  The  introductory  lyric  was  among  the  last 
composed.  It  contains  the  argument  of  the  whole 
drama.  That  argument  is  that  loss  may  become 
gain  when  grief  is  cherished  by  love.  The  author 
begins :  — 

' '  I  held  it  truth,  with  him  \vho  sings 
To  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 
That  men  may  rise  on  stepping-stones 
Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things." 

There  has  been  much  speculation  as  to  the  poet 
here  referred  to.  The  Kev.  Alfred  Gatty  decides 
the  matter  in  the  following  words :  "  It  may  be 
stated  on  the  highest  authority,  that  the  special 
passage  alluded  to  in  the  opening  stanza  cannot  be 
identified,  but  it  is  Goethe's  creed."  And  we  are 
further  told  that  the  "  dead  selves  "  of  the  poet 
"are  neither  our  vices  nor  our  calamities;  but, 
rather,  our  general  experiences,  which  all  perish  as 
they  happen."  l  Faust,  in  Goethe's  great  life-poem, 
emerges  from  the  ruins  of  his  dead  self  to  a  higher 
life  and  a  broader  assertion  of  selfhood.  It  is  still 
the  same  self  trampling  upon  the  narrower  and 
lower  experiences  of  life.  But  Tennyson  would  not 

Alexandrian  School  and  the  Jewish  traditions  embodied  in  the 
Mishna. 

1  A  Key  to  "  In  Memoriam,"  third  edition,  pp.  1,  2.   This  edition 
has  been  revised  by  Lord  Tennyson,  and  whenever  Mr.    Gatty 
vises  italics  he  is   giving   Tennyson's   own   interpretation.     This  . 
gives  Mr.  Gatty's  volume  an  authoritative  value  that  cannot  be 
attained  by  any  other  gloss,  however  ingenious. 


208    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

forget  the  past;  he  would  cherish  his  grief  and 
twine  it  around  the  present  and  the  future.  He 
would,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles,  "  reach  a  hand 
through  time  to  catch  the  far-off  interest  of  tears." l 
So  he  would  have  love  to  clasp  grief —  even  in  its 
excess  —  and  carry  it  through  the  lapse  of  time 
beyond  all  power  of  being  lost  or  forgotten.  Let 
us  trace  the  progress  of  that  grief.  Forthwith  the 
poet  enters  upon  the  first  stage  of  his  sorrow,  when 
that  sorrow  is  so  intense  that  it  will  not  be  com- 
forted. He  finds  the  emblem  of  his  despondency 
in  the  old  yew  — 

"  And  gazing  on  thee,  sullen  tree, 
Sick  for  thy  stubborn  hardihood, 
I  seem  to  fail  from  out  my  blood, 
And  grow  incorporate  into  thee."  2 

In  this  mood  he  rails  against  sorrow.  He  will  not 
listen  to  the  commonplaces  of  consolation.  The 
blank  despair  of  his  bereavement  is  reflected  in  the 
material  universe :  — 

"  And  all  the  phantom,  Nature,  stands  —        * 
With  all  the  music  in  her  tone, 
A  hollow  echo  of  my  own,  — 
A  hollow  form  with  empty  hands."  8 

His  grief  is  still  in  that  selfish  state  that  will  not 
be  intruded  upon.  The  only  comfort  he  will  ad- 
mit is  that  flowing  from  the  exercise  of  his  pen. 
Labor  and  time  are  two  physicians  likely  to  bring 

1  In  Memoriam,  i.  2 ;  cf .  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  xxxii. :  — 

"  How  many  a  holy  and  obsequious  tear 
Hath  dear  religious  love  stol'ii  from  mine  eye 
As  interest  of  the  dead. " 

2  In  Memoriam,  ii.  4.  *  Ibid.  iii.  3. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    209 

a  healing  balm  to  the  soul.  His  grief  will  not,  in 
its  present  acute  stage,  permit  him  to  sleep,  and 
in  the  gray  dawn  of  early  morning  he  visits  the 
house  of  Hallam  in  Wimpole  Street :  — 

"  Dark  house,  by  which  once  more  I  stand 
Here  in  the  long  unlovely  street; " l 

The  house  is  deserted,  the  friend  who  was  its  light 
and  warmth  is  not  there,  and  the  poet's  soul  feels 
as  desolate  as  the  scene  before  him,  while 

"ghastly  through  the  drizzling  rain 
On  the  bald  street  breaks  the  blank  day,"  2 

and  he  reverts  to  the  ship  that  is  bearing  the  re- 
mains of  his  friend  from  where  within 

"Vienna's  fatal  walls 
God's  finger  touched  him,  and  he  slept."  8 

Earth  is  darkened,  and  all  things  reminding  him 
of  the  lost  friend  are  a  pang  to  his  heart.  How- 
ever, the  first  paroxysm  of  grief  becomes  spent. 
The  calm  that  has  settled  upon  Nature  images  the 
apparent  quiet  that  possesses  his  soul ;  for  the 
quiet  is  only  seeming,  and  in  his  heart  there  abides 

.  "  if  calm  at  all, 
If  any  calm,  a  calm  despair."4 

2.  Not  long  after  the  poet  describes  his  mood  as 
one  of  "  wild  unrest,"  5  and  recovering  himself  from 
the  first  stunning  shock  of  his  grief,  and  reviewing 
its  action  and  its  effects,  he  wonders  if  it  has  not 
unbalanced  his  mind :  — 

"  And  made  me  that  delirious  man 
Whose  fancy  fuses  old  and  new, 

1  In  Memoriam,  vii.  1.         2  Ibid.  vii.  3.          8  Ibid.  Ixxxv.  5. 
*  Ibid.  xi.  4.  6  Ibid.  xv.  4. 


210    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

And  flashes  into  false  and  true, 
And  mingles  all  without  a  plan."  l 

Indeed,  so  great  is  his  grief  at  this  period  that  it 
takes  an  exertion  of  his  will-power  to  prevent  him- 
self from  dying  and  following  his  friend.2 

3.  But  this  violent  sorrow  abates.    The  presence 
of  the   corpse   in   English   soil   brings   a   certain 
amount  of  comfort :  — 

"  'T  is  well ;  't  is  something  ;  we  may  stand 
Where  he  in  English  earth  is  laid, 
And  from  his  ashes  may  be  made 
The  violet  of  his  native  land."  8 

The  grief-stricken  friend  begins  to  reflect  upon  his 
mood.  He  considers  the  objections  raised  in  re- 
gard to  his  sorrow,  and  defends  himself  against 
those  who  would  accuse  him  of  idly  nursing  a 
barren  sentiment :  — 

"  Behold,  ye  speak  an  idle  thing : 
Ye  never  knew  the  sacred  dust : 
I  do  but  sing  because  I  must, 
And  pipe  but  as  the  linnets  sing."  4 

His  reverence  for  the  dead  is  most  Christian.  It 
extends  to  the  remains,  "the  sacred  dust,"  of  the 
body  as  well  as  to  the  soul. 

4.  The  poet  has  now  sufficiently  recovered  from 
the  first  shock  to  be  able  to  look  back  upon  the 
portion   of   his   life   that  he  had   spent  with   his 

1  In  Memoriam,  xvi.  5.  2  Ibid.  Ixxxv.  10. 

8  Ibid,  xviii.  1 ;  cf .  Shakespeare,  in  Hamlet :  — 
"  Lay  her  in  the  earth, 

And  from  her  fair  and  unpolluted  flesh 

May  violets  spring.  » 

4  In  Memoriam,  xxi.  6. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    211 

mourned  friend.  The  "  four  sweet  years  "  through 
which  they  walked  together  pass  before  him,  and 
death  is  still  so  present  to  him  that  he  cannot  di- 
vest himself  of  the  thought 

"  that  somewhere  in  the  waste 
The  Shadow  sits  and  waits  for  me."  1 

"  Somewhere  in  the  waste."  Such  is  Kfe  to  him  in 
his  present  mood  —  a  waste.  Even  while  he  wan- 
ders towards  where  the  Shadow  sits,  "often  fall- 
ing lame  "  in  the  doubts  and  difficulties  by  which 
he  is  sore  beset,  he  will  persist  in  contrasting 
the  dreary  path  he  now  treads  with  the  pleasant 
land  through  which  he  journeyed  with  his  friend  — 

"  When  each  by  turns  was  guide  to  each, 
And  Fancy  light  from  Fancy  caught, 
And  Thought  leapt  out  to  wed  with  Thought 
Ere  Thought  could  wed  itself  with  Speech."  2 

He  cherishes  his  sorrow  even  as  he  cherishes  the 
memory  of  his  friend.  He  loves  the  very  pain  that 
accompanies  it,  and  triumphantly,  in  words  that 
have  become  familiar  wherever  the  English  lan- 
guage is  spoken,  he  says  :  — 

"  I  hold  it  true,  whate'er  befall ; 
I  feel  it,  when  I  sorrow  most ; 
Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  a//."  8 

Sadly  falls  the  first  Christmas  eve  after  the  death 
of  Arthur.  Its  rejoicings  are  dimmed  "  with  an 
awful  sense  of  one  mute  Shadow  watching  all." 
But  Faith  brings  hope  and  consolation,  and*  with 

1  In  Memoriam,  xxii.  5.  2  Ibid,  xxiii.  4. 

8  Ibid,  xxvii.  4. 


212    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

the  breaking  of  the  morning  the  poet,  full  of  the 
thought  of  the  Infant  Saviour,  bursts  forth  in 
song:  — 

"  Rise,  happy  morn,  rise,  holy  morn, 

Draw  forth  the  cheerful  day  from  night : 
0  Father,  touch  the  east,  and  light 
The  light  that  shone  when  Hope  was  born."1 

5.  Here  occur  those  two  beautiful  lyrics  in 
which  the  poet  sings  the  raising  of  Lazarus  from 
the  grave.  He  wonders  what  the  risen  man  had  to 
say  of  the  life  beyond  the  grave.  Did  his  sister 
Mary  question  him  regarding  those  four  days  that 
he  was  dead?  Did  he  reveal  to  her  any  of  the 
secrets  of  the  new  state  in  which  he  found  him- 
self ?  No  answer.  But  great  must  have  been  the 
rejoicings  in  that  little  town  of  Bethany.  And 
there  Mary  sits, — 

"  Her  eyes  are  homes  of  silent  prayer,"  — 

feasting  those  eyes  upon  the  brother  who  has  been 
restored  to  life  and  to  her ;  and  with  love  and  rev- 
erence she  looks  upon  Him  who  hath  worked  the 
miracle,  and  who  is  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life, 
and  she  worships  Him,  and  bathes  his  feet  with 
costly  spikenard  and  with  tears :  — 

"  All  subtle  thought,  all  curious  fears, 
Borne  down  by  gladness  so  complete."  2 

Another  great  poet  who  also  believes  in  the  Divin- 
ity of  Christ  has  made  Lazarus  the  subject  of  one 
of  his  most  perfect  poems.  Browning's  mode  of 
treating  the  subject  has  nothing  in  common  with 

1  In  Memoriam,  xxx.  8.  2  Ibid,  xxxii.  3. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    213 

Tennyson's.  Where  Tennyson  is  calm,  reflective, 
running  his  comments  along  an  even  tenor  of  sub- 
dued feeling,  Browning  is  forcible  and  probing, 
seeking  to  grasp  in  detail  the  new  life  of  the  risen 
man  with 

"  Heaven  opened  to  a  soul  while  yet  on  earth, 
Earth  forced  on  a  soul's  use  while  seeing  heaven." 

It  is  a  life  apparently  out  of  joint  with  all  around. 
Lazarus  is  with  his  neighbors  but  not  of  them. 
His  higher  knowledge  of  things  spiritual  causes 
him  to  lose  all  interest  in  things  of  earth.  He 
seems  out  of  place.  He  only  sees  the  unworldly  side 
of  things  :  — 

"  He  holds  on  firmly  to  some  thread  of  life  — 
(It  is  the  life  to  lead  perforcedly) 
Which  runs  across  some  vast,  distracting  orb 
Of  glory  on  either  side  that  meagre  thread, 
Which,  conscious  of,  he  must  not  enter  yet  — 
The  spiritual  life  around  the  earthly  life  : 
The  law  of  that  is  known  to  him  as  this, 
His  heart  and  brain  move  there,  his  feet  stay  here.  .  .  . 
Indeed  the  especial  marking  of  the  man 
Is  prone  submission  to  the  heavenly  will  — 
Seeing  it,  what  it  is,  and  why  it  is." 1 

This  is  as  an  outsider  would  regard  the  spiritual 
aspect  of  the  new  life  of  Lazarus.  The  words  are 
placed  in  the  mouth  of  an  unbeliever  —  an  Arabian 
physician.  Beneath  the  dramatic  character  of  the 
poem  lie  some  important  truths.  One  is  that  it 
is  best  for  man  and  best  for  the  world  that  man 
knows  not  the  whole  mystery  of  life.  Such  a  know- 
ledge would  destroy  all  the  effort  and  all  the  purpose 
of  man  in  the  directions  in  which  they  now  run 

1  Epistle  of  Karshish,  the  Arab  Physician. 


214  PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

most  forcibly.  Another  is  that  the  chief  thing  in 
all  living  is  spiritual  growth  and  development,  and 
that  this  may  best  be  attained  in  "  prone  submission 
to  the  heavenly  will."  This  is  also  the  outcome  of 
Tennyson's  study  of  the  sister  of  Lazarus  :  — 

"  Thrice  blest  whose  lives  are  faithful  prayers, 
Whose  loves  in  higher  love  endure  ; 
What  souls  possess  themselves  so  pure, 
Or  is  there  blessedness  like  theirs  ?  " l 

Gratifying  is  it  to  see  two  poets  so  different  in 
tone  and  temper  —  so  diametrically  opposite  in 
artistic  method  and  execution  —  still  on  the  same 
fundamental  issue  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion. 

6.  Returning  to  our  analysis  of  the  poet  wrest- 
ling with  his  sorrow,  we  find  that  a  reaction  sets 
in  ;    once  more  his  grief   asserts  itself  and  over- 
whelms   him ;    darkness   closes  around   him,   and 
with  weary  steps  he  loiters  on  through  life.     Spring- 
tide brings  him  no  joy,  and  he  only  finds  a  doubt- 
ful gleam  of  solace  in  the  very  lyrics  he  is  weaving. 
He  again  recurs  to  the  old  yew-tree  in  the  church- 
yard.    He  finds  it  a  fitting  type  of  his  sorrow.     As 
the  gloom  of  the  yew  is  for  a  short  season  kindled 
at  the  tips,  and  its  brighter  green  passes  into  gloom 
again,  even  so  does  his  sorrow  after  the  brief  spell 
of  comfort  and  solace  that  seemed  to  soothe  his 
spirits  return  with  renewed  force. 2 

7.  And   now,   in   poem   after   poem,   Tennyson 
dwells  upon  his  separation  from  his  friend  and  the 
vast  distance  between  their  respective  states.     He 
reasons   upon   the   state   of   the   happy  dead ;  he 

1  In  Memoriam,  xxxii.  5.  2  Ibid,  xxxix. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    215 

gropes  about  for  some  clear  word  of  hope  and 
assurance  that  his  soul  is  immortal  and  will  re- 
cognize Arthur  in  the  other  life  ;  still  the  grief 
remains  unchanged :  — 

"  Beneath  all  fancied  hopes  and  fears 
Ay  me  !  the  sorrow  deepens  down, 
Whose  muffled  motions  blindly  drown 
The  bases  of  my  life  in  tears."  l 

8.  The  poet  once  more  rises  out  of  the  depths, 
and  seeks  solace  in  the  thought  of  the  nearness  of 
his  friend.  He  fancies  Arthur's  spirit  free  to  come 
to  him,  and  he  begs  him  to  be  near  him.  He  hun- 
gers for  the  presence  of  the  departed  soul,  and 
strives  to  render  himself  less  unworthy  of  the  com- 
panionship. In  this  mood  his  soul  opens  to  other 
influences,  and  he  attains  greater  mastery  over  his 
grief. 

V. 

1.  In  the  second  part  of  "  In  Memoriam  "  the 
poet's  sorrow  takes  up  a  more  hopeful  and  helpful 
note.  He  who  formerly  found  naught  but  desola- 
tion in  the  whisperings  from  the  "  lying  lips  "  of 
sorrow,  now  woos  that  same  sorrow  to  be  to  him  a 
helpmeet  to  aid  him  in  rising  to  higher  things  :  — 

"  0  Sorrow,  wilt  thou  live  with  me 
No  casual  mistress,  but  a  wife, 
My  bosom-friend  and  half  of  life."  2 

The  grief  that  would  not  be  comforted  —  the 
purely  human  grief  —  has  become  tempered  by 
faith.  Hitherto  the  poet  had  been  wholly  absorbed 

1  In  Memoriam,  xlix.  4.  2  Ibid.  lix.  1. 


216  PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

in  his  waking  thoughts.  But  we  now  come  across 
a  remarkable  series  of  lyrics  in  which  he  reveals 
the  working  of  his  brain  when  in  his  bed  at  night. 
The  first  illustrates  how  the  poet's  last  thought  be- 
fore sleep  and  first  thought  upon  waking  are  of  his 
friend.  He  is  in  bed,  and  as  the  moon's  rays  creep 
through  his  room  he  thinks  of  the  same  rays  pass- 
ing over  the  tablet  in  the  little  church  by  the  sea. 

"  Thy  marble  bright  in  dark  appears, 
As  slowly  steals  a  silver  flame 
Along  the  letters  of  thy  name, 
And  o'er  the  number  of  thy  years."  l 

The  moonbeams  vanish,  and  he  sleeps  to  awaken  in 
the  early  morning  and  think  how  in  the  same  dark 
church  the  same  tablet,  like  a  ghost,  glimmers  in 
the  dawn.  Time  was  when  he  could  not  have  thus 
calmly  transported  himself  in  imagination  to  the 
church  and  read  the  record  of  his  friend's  death, 
and  slept  soundly  afterwards. 

2.  In  the  next  lyric  the  poet  dreams  of  Arthur 
not  as  dead  but  as  living :  — 

"  When  in  the  down  I  sink  my  head, 

Sleep,  Death's  twin-brother,  times  my  breath; 
Sleep,  Death's  twin-brother,  knows  not  Death, 
Nor  can  I  dream  of  thee  as  dead."  2 

He  dreams  of  him  as  he  looked  and  spoke  when 
still  in  the  morning  of  life.  But  Arthur's  face 
wears  an  air  of  trouble  that  is  new  to  it.  By  a 
trick  of  the  brain,  the  trouble  of  the  poet's  early 
and  uncontrolled  grief  is  transferred  to  the  friend 
he  is  grieving  for  :  — 

1  In  Memoriam,  Ixvii.  2.  2  Ibid.  LtviiL  1. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    217 

*'  It  is  the  trouble  of  my  youth 
That  foolish  Sleep  transfers  to  thee." 

Professor  Davidson  rightly  calls  this  "  a  fine  piece 
of  psychological  observation."  ] 

3.  In  the  third  lyric  the  poet  has  a  strange 
dream.  The  dream  is  too  consistent  not  to  be  also 
allegorical.  He  dreams  that  Nature's  reproductive 
power  is  lost ;  spring  brings  with  it  no  revival,  and 
the  poet  wanders  about  helpless  and  aimless.  He 
enters  a  wood  with  thorny  boughs  and  binds  his 
brow  with  a  crown  of  thorns.  We  are  at  once  re- 
minded of  Dante  entangled  in  the  forest  of  error. 
Perhaps  Tennyson  considers  the  speculations  and 
the  difficulties  with  which  he  is  wrestling  as  fruit- 
less and  barren.  All  thought  is  made  sterile 
by  the  touch  of  skepticism.  The  crown  of  thorns 
may  be  regarded  as  the  emblem  and  heritage  of 
prophecy  and  martyrdom,  of  which  the  poet  con- 
siders himself  unworthy,  and  so  he  is  scoffed  at 
by  all:  — 

"  I  met  with  scoffs,  I  met  with  scorns 

From  youth  and  babe  and  hoary  hairs  : 
They  called  me  in  the  public  squares 
The  fool  that  wears  a  crown  of  thorns."  2 

Or  it  may  be  that  the  wreath  of  poetry  he  was 
weaving  out  of  his  barren  sorrow  and  no  less  barren 
doubt  and  despair  was  in  itself  harsh  and  thorny 
and  but  ill-suited  to  command  respect.  But  a 
change  came  over  the  poet.  He  tells  us :  — 

' '  I  found  an  angel  of  the  night ; 
The  voice  was  low,  the  look  was  bright."  8 

1  Prolegomena  to  In  Memoriam,  p.  60. 

2  In  Memoriam,  hrix.  3.      «  8  Ibid.  box.  4. 


218    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

This  angel  is  belief  in  the  saving  truths  of  Chris- 
tianity, which  is  never  loud  in  its  utterance,  like 
modern  creeds  and  modern  systems  of  human  origin. 
The  belief  is  an  angel,  for  it  is  heaven-born.  One 
touch  of  this  heaven-born  faith  causes  the  wreath 
to  bloom.  The  presence  of  the  angel  dispels  the 
darkness  of  night.  Many  doubts  vanish  in  the 
presence  of  a  heartfelt  "  I  believe."  We  are 
further  told :  — 

"  The  voice  was  not  the  voice  of  grief, 
The  words  were  hard  to  understand."  1 

All  the  mysteries  of  our  holy  religion  speak  to  us 
in  words  that  are  hard  to  understand,  but  we  accept 
their  saving  doctrine  on  the  authority  of  Divine 
revelation.  The  poem  that  were  a  barren  expres- 
sion of  merely  human  grief  becomes  with  the 
assistance  of  religion  a  flourishing  wreath.  This 
lyric  is  one  of  the  poet's  happiest  inspirations. 

4.  Another  psychological  phase  that  the  poet 
depicts  in  this  series  is  the  state  between  sleep- 
ing and  waking,  during  which  he  strives  to  rep- 
resent to  himself  the  face  he  knows  so  well,  and  to 
paint  its  features  in  the  gloom  before  him.  But 
their  outlines  escape  him,  and  in  the  stead  night- 
mare and  confusion  usurp  his  fancy,  till  suddenly, 
in  a  passive  state,  the  dear  familiar  face  stands 
out  from  the  darkness :  — 

"  Till  all  at  once  beyond  the  will 
I  hear  a  wizard  music  roll, 
And  through  a  lattice  on  the  soul 
Looks  thy  fair  face  and  makes  it  still."  2 

1  In  Memoriam,  Ixix.  5.  2  Ibid.  Ixx.  4. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    219 

In  this  lyric  a  complex  phenomenon  and  a  difficult 
piece  of  soul-analysis  are  exquisitely  described. 

5.  In  the  final  lyric  of  the  present  series  sleep  at 
last  favors  the  poet  and  forges  "  a  night-long  Pre- 
sent of  the  Past,"  in  which  with  his  friend  he 
lives  over  again  a  pleasant  day  spent  in  "  summer 
France."1  It  was  in  1832  that  the  two  friends 
made  a  tour  of  that  country,  and  passed  through 
the  scenes  revisited  in  his  sleep.  Tennyson  has 
left  a  memento  of  another  visit  paid  to  one  of 
these  cherished  scenes  in  1864 :  — 

"  All  along  the  valley,  stream  that  flashest  white, 
Deepening  thy  voice  with  the  deepening  of  the  night, 
All  along  the  valley,  where  thy  waters  flow, 
I  walked  with  one  I  loved  two-and-thirty  years  ago."  2 

Here  ends  the  series  of  the  lyrics  of  sleep  and  dream 
and  reverie. 


VI. 

1.  Another  group  of  lyrics  is  introduced  by  one 
commemorating  the  first  anniversary  of  the  death 
of  Arthur.  This  leads  Tennyson  to  think  of  all 
that  his  friend  might  have  become  had  he  lived, 
for  he  bore  the  marks  of  kinship  with  the  great 
and  wise.  But  since  he  did  not  live  to  achieve  all 
that  he  gave  promise  of,  and  since  the  world  heeds 
only  things  done,  silence  shall  guard  his  fame 
here,  the  poet  being  convinced  that  in  Arthur's 
new  state  whatever  he  puts  hand  to  must  win  great 

1  In  Memoriam,  Ixxi. 

a  In  the  Valley  of  Cauteretz. 


220     PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

applause.  Moreover,  his  own  lay  is  too  short 
lived.  Though  the  world's  poems  of  early  days, 

"  the  matin  songs,  that  woke 
The  darkness  of  our  planet,  last  "  — 

the  poet  avers  that  his  cannot  survive  the  life-time 
of  an  oak.  Still,  like  Petrarca,  he  will  sing  for  a 
higher  purpose :  — 

' '  My  darkened  ways 
Shall  ring  with  music  all  the  same  ; 
To  breathe  my  loss  is  more  than  fame, 
To  utter  love  more  sweet  than  praise"  l 

2.  With  every  advance  we  find  the  poet's  grief 
abating  and  his  sympathies  broadening.  There 
are  still  fluctuations.  There  must  needs  be  fluctu- 
ations if  the  poet  is  to  be  true  to  nature.  Were  he 
to  ignore  them,  were  his  song  to  be  one  paean  of  joy 
after  the  first  outburst  of  sorrow,  his  poem  were 
not  worthy  of  our  study.  No  soul  rises  at  once 
above  the  bereavement  into  which  it  is  plunged 
by  the  death  of  one  near  and  dear.  There  must 
needs  be  a  struggle  and  a  constant  effort  of  will- 
power. Not  the  least  interesting  aspect  of  the 
poem  consists  in  the  record  of  the  soul's  fluctu- 
ations in  grief  as  their  proportions  diminish,  while 
the  soul  itself  rises  higher  and  higher  into  regions 
of  faith  and  hope  and  trust  in  the  future.  Such 
a  lapse  is  here  recorded.  While  painting  the  beau- 
tiful domestic  life  that  Arthur  might  have  led  had 

1  In   Memoriam,  Ixxvii.   4;    cf.  Petrarca  in  Morte   di  Laura, 
xxv.:  — 

"  B  certo  ogni  mio  studio  in  quel  temp'  era 
Pur  di  sfogare  il  doloroso  core 
In  qualche  mode,  non  <£'  acquistar  fama. 
Pianger  cercai  non  gid  dfl  planto  onore." 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    221 

he  lived  and  married  the  woman  who  was  engaged 
to  him,  the  poet's  sister  Emily  —  this  lyric  in  it- 
self a  charming  idyll  —  the  pang  of  loss  seizes  him, 
and  he  exclaims :  — 

"  What  reed  was  that  on  which  I  leant  ? 
Ah,  backward  fancy,  wherefore  wake 
The  old  bitterness  again,  and  break 
The  low  beginnings  of  content."  l 

3.  In  the  very  next  lyric  the  poet  recovers  his 
equilibrium,  and  addressing  E.  L.  Lushington, 
"  true  in  word  and  tried  in  deed,"  the  early  friend 
who  is  to  marry  his  sister  Cecily,  "  clasping  brother- 
hands,"  he  explains  his  affliction  for  Arthur  and 
Arthur's  abiding  influence  over  him  for  good :  — 

"  I  felt  and  feel,  though  left  alone, 

His  being  working  in  mine  own, 
The  footsteps  of  his  life  in  mine  ;  " 


"  And  so  my  passion  hath  not  swerved 
To  works  of  weakness,  but  I  find 
An  image  comforting  the  mind, 
And  in  my  grief  a  strength  reserved."  2 

Feeling  that  he  is  best  pleasing  his  departed  friend 
by  holding  out  a  brother's  hand  to  this  other  friend, 
and  letting  his  feelings  and  his  sympathies  flow 
more  freely  through  the  social  body  of  which  he  is 
a  member,  he  sings  :  — 

"  My  pulses  therefore  beat  again 

For  other  friends  that  once  I  met ; 
Nor  can  it  suit  me  to  forget 
The  mighty  hopes  that  make  us  men. 

"  I  woo  your  love  :  I  count  it  crime 
To  mourn  for  any  overmuch ; 

1  In  Memoriam,  Ixxxiv.  12.  2  End.  Ixxxv.  11,  13. 


222  PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

I,  the  divided  half  of  such 
A  friendship  as  had  mastered  Time."  l 

And  so  he  gathers  strength  in  the  remembrance  of 
his  friend ;  his  vision  broadens ;  his  song  grows 
more  blithe.  His  harp  will  persist  in  striking  out 
notes  of  joy :  — 

"  And  I  —  my  harp  would  prelude  woe  — 
I  cannot  all  command  the  strings ; 
The  glory  of  the  sum  of  things 
Will  flash  along  the  chords  and  go"  2 

He  must  sing  the  triumph  of  good  over  evil  and 
truth  over  error.  It  will  flash  out  through  the 
notes  of  sorrow  he  began  with,  even  as  the  night- 
ingale is  supposed  to  sing  a  double  note  of  joy  and 
grief. 

VII. 

1.  We  enter  upon  another  stage  in  the  progress 
of  the  poem.  Tennyson  has  already  spoken  of 
sleep  as  kinsman  "  to  death  and  trance  and  mad- 
ness." With  the  madness  of  uncontrolled  grief, 
with  the  dreams  of  sleep,  and  with  death  he  has 
been  making  us  familiar.  Now  he  would  sing  to 
us  of  trance.  He  is  no  longer  content  with  waking 
fancies  or  the  shadows  of  dream-land.  He  would 
hold  direct  communion  with  the  dead.  He  does 
not  believe  in  apparitions.  Should  they  happen  he 
would  regard  them  merely  as  presentiments.  But 
spirit  with  spirit  can  meet,  and  why  may  not  the 
soul  of  Arthur  commune  with  the  yearning  soul  of 
his  friend  under  certain  conditions  ?  These  condi- 
tions are  laid  down  in  detail :  — 

1  In  Memoriam,  xxxv.  15,  16.  2  Ibid.  Ixxxviii.  3. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMOR1AM    223 

"  How  pure  at  heart  and  sound  in  head, 
With  what  divine  affections  bold 
Should  be  the  man  whose  thought  would  hold 
An  hour's  communion  with  the  dead."  1 

Now  the  poet  records  that  on  a  special  occasion 
and  under  peculiar  circumstances  his  soul  blended 
with  the  soul  of  his-  friend  in  intimate  and  ecstatic 
communion.  Tennyson,  from  his  boyhood  days, 
has  been  subject  to  trance.  Writing  to  a  medical 
friend  he  says  :  "  I  have  never  had  any  revelations 
through  anaesthetics ;  but  a  kind  of  '  waking  trance ' 
(this  for  lack  of  a  better  word)  I  have  frequently 
had  quite  up  from  boyhood  when  I  have  been  all 
alone.  This  has  often  come  upon  me  through  re- 
peating my  own  name  to  myself  silently,  till  all  at 
once  as  it  were  out  of  the  intensity  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  individuality  the  individuality  itself  seemed 
to  dissolve  and  fade  away  into  boundless  being  — 
and  this  not  a  confused  state,  but  the  clearest  of 
the  clearest,  the  surest  of  the  surest,  utterly  beyond 
words  —  where  death  was  an  almost  laughable  im- 
possibility —  the  loss  of  personality  (if  so  it  were) 
seeming  no  extinction  but  the  only  true  life.  I  am 
ashamed  of  my  feeble  description.  Have  I  not  said 
the  state  is  utterly  beyond  words?  But  in  a 
moment  when  I  come  back  to  my  normal  state  of 
4  sanity '  I  am  ready  to  fight  for  mein  liebes  Ich, 
and  hold  that  it  will  last  for  aeons  of  aeons."  2  This 
fact  the  poet  has  expressed  in  one  of  his  latest  and 
most  mature  poems  as  .follows  :  — 

1  In  Memoriam,  xciv.  1. 

2  Letter  written  to  Dr.  Blood  in  1874,  and  quoted  by  Professor 
Davidson  in  his  Prolegomena  to  In  Memoriam  p.  83. 


224    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

"  More  than  once  when  I 
Sat  all  alone,  revolving1  in  myself 
The  word  that  is  the  symbol  of  myself, 
The  mortal  limit  of  the  Self  was  loosed, 
And  passed  into  the  Nameless,  as  a  cloud 
Melts  into  Heaven.      I  touched  my  limbs,  the  limbs 
Were  strange,  not  mine  —  and  yet  no  shade  of  doubt, 
But  utter  clearness,  and  through  Joss  of  Self 
The  gain  of  such  large  life  as  matched  with  ours 
Were  Sun  to  spark  —  unshadowable  in  words, 
Themselves  but  shadows  of  a  shadow- world."  l 

2.  In  the  "  In  Memoriam  "  Tennyson  gives  us 
the  details  of  just  such  a  trance,  and  he  avers  that 
while  in  that  state  he  communed  with  the  soul  of 
his  friend.  When  the  household  had  retired  for 
the  night  there  came  upon  him  a  great  yearning 
for  his  friend,  and  he  began  to  satisfy  its  craving 
by  reading  Arthur's  old  letters.  We  shall  let  him 
put  the  sequel  in  his  own  inimitable  form :  — 

"  So  word  by  word,  and  line  by  line, 

The  dead  man  touched  me  from  the  past, 
And  all  at  once  it  seemed  at  last 
The  living  soul  was  flashed  on  mine, 

"  And  mine  in  this  was  wound,  and  whirled 
About  empyreal  heights  of  thought, 
And  came  on  that  which  is,  and  caught 
The  deep  pulsations  of  the  world, 

"  Ionian  music  measuring  out 

The  steps  of  Time  —  the  shocks  of  Chance  — 
The  blows  of  Death.    At  length  my  trance 
Was  cancelled,  stricken  through  with  doubt. ' ' 2 

The  poet  would  like  to  believe  without  a  shadow  of 

doubt  that  the  objective  reality  corresponded  to  his 

subjective  impressions.     Was  Arthur's  spirit  really 

1  The  Ancient  Sage.  2  In  Memoriam,  xcv.  9-11. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    225 

present  in  fond  embrace  and  communion  with  his 
own?  l  Or  was  it  simply  the  intense  yearning  that 
still  possessed  him  while  in  the  trance,  thus  leav- 
ing upon  his  imagination  the  impression  of  his 
friend's  presence  ?  Was  Tennyson's  that  state  de- 
fined by  St.  Theresa  as  coming  "  from  an  imagina- 
tion formed  by  the  understanding  itself  ?  "  2  Com- 
munion with  the  dead  is  to  all  of  us  a  consolation. 
We  love  to  believe  that  our  dear  departed  ones  are 
near  us,  that  they  read  our  thoughts,  and  that  they 
can  reach  our  souls  in  intimate  union  when  indeed 
our  souls  become^  sufficiently  purified  from  the 
dross  of  earth. 

3.  Let  us  analyze  the  author's  impressions.  '  He 
tells  us  that  in  union  with  his  friend  he  "  came  on 
that  which  is ; "  that  is,  he  distinguished  essences 
beneath  appearances,  the  noumenon  behind  the 
phenomenon,  reality  beyond  all  images  of  reality. 
This  is  also  the  teaching  of  Plato :  "  Do  you  not 
see,"  he  says,  "  that  in  that  communion  only,  be- 
holding beauty  with  the  eye  of  the  mind,  he  will  be 
able  to  bring  forth,  not  images  of  beauty,  but  re- 
alities (for  he  has  hold  not  of  an  image  but  of  a 
reality)^  and  bringing  forth  and  nourishing  true 

1  Immediately  after  writing  this  sentence  I  came  across  the  fol- 
lowing from  the    pen  of   Mrs.  Chenoweth :   "  As  I  read  my   In 
Memoriam  hushed  to  utter  restfulness  in  its  breadth  and  height 
and  depth,  I  am  powerless  to  ask,  '  Did  young  Arthur's  spirit  in- 
deed respond  to  the  poet's   anguished  cry  for   comfort  ? '  As  I 
read,  I  know  that  it  did  so."    The  Arena,  March  1891,  art.   "  The 
Unclassified  Residuum."   Mrs.  Chenoweth  is  a  member  of  the  Lon- 
don Society  for  Psychical  Research  of  which  Tennyson  is  also  a 
member. 

2  Autobiography,  chap  xxv.  p.  221,  Eng.  tr. 


226    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

virtue  to  become  the  friend  of  God  and  be  immor- 
tal, if  mortal  man  may."  1  Again,  the  poet  tells  us 
that  in  his  trance  he  caught  "  the  deep  pulsations 
of  the  world,  seonian  music  measuring  out  the  steps 
of  Time."  Have  we  not  here  an  allusion  to  the 
musical  numbers  by  which  the  soul  of  the  world 
is  extended  and  diffused  from  the  centre  of  the 
earth?2  He  also  describes  his  soul  as  wound  in 
the  soul  of  his  friend.  This  is  the  kind  of  impres- 
sion that  the  neo-Platonist  records  of  the  soul 
seeking  communion  with  the  Good.  "  In  the  vision," 
says  Plotinus,  "  which  has  the  Good  for  its  object, 
the  soul  contemplating  makes  but  one  with  the  ob- 
ject- contemplated."  3  And  speaking  of  the  initi- 
ated into  the  mysteries,  the  same  philosopher  says  : 
"  The  truly  initiated  identified  himself  with  the  ob- 
ject of  his  contemplation ;  he  was  divested  of  all 
his  faculties,  of  motion  and  passion  and  desire,  of 
reason  and  thought,  and  even  of  his  personality  in 
order  that  he  might  be  enraptured  and  possessed 
by  God."  4  St.  Augustin,  who  was  familiar  with 
neo-Platonic  doctrine  and  practice,  describes  a 
similar  experience  on  the  eve  of  his  conversion,  in 
which  he  passed  from  the  phantasms  of  the  things 
of  sense,  and  seeking  the  light  found  the  un- 
changeable preferable  to  the  changeable.  With 
the  flash  of  one  trembling  glance,  he  arrived  at 
the  recognition  of  That  Which  7s,  and  he  saw  the 
invisible  things  understood  by  the  things  that  are 

1  Symposium,  Jowett's  trans,  ii.  p.  62. 

2  Timams.     See  Grote's  Plato,  vol.  Hi.  p.  254. 
8  Enneades,  lib.  vi.  cap.  ix.  10. 

4  Ibid,  lib  vi.  cap.  vii.  11. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    227 

made.1  The  Cabalists  also  recognized  this  state. 
In  their  chief  manual  we  read  :  "  By  means  of  the 
intuition  of  love  the  soul  divests  itself  of  the 
consciousness  of  its  existence,  and  becomes  trans- 
formed into  its  principle  to  the  extent  of  having  no 
other  thought  or  will  than  the  thought  or  will  of 
God."  2  Dante  when  describing  the  state  of  ecstasy 
of  the  soul  in  the  mystical  unitive  way  of  the  spirit- 
ual life  also  expresses  the  vision  of  essences :  — 

"  I  saw  that  iu  its  depth  far  down  is  lying 
Bound  up  with  love  together  in  one  volume, 
What  through  the  universe  in  leaves  is  scattered ; 

Substance  and  accident,  and  their  operations, 
All  interfused  together  in  such  wise 
That  what  I  speak  of  is  one  simple  light."  8 

But  in  his  vision  of  Beatrice  he  speaks  more  re- 
servedly and  seems  not  to  have  lost  his  identity. 
He  says :  "  The  life  of  my  heart  was  wont  to  be  a 
sweet  thought  which  often  went  to  the  feet  of  the 
Lord,  .  .  .  and  I  would  have  it  understood  that  I 
was  certain,  and  am  certain,  through  her  gracious 
revelation,  that  she  was  in  heaven,  whither  I,  think- 
ing oftentimes,  according  as  was  possible  for  me, 
went,  as  it  were  seized  up.  And  the  sweetness  of 
this  thought  was  such  as  to  make  me  desirous  of 
death  that  I  might  go  where  she  was."  4  The  trance 
of  Tennyson  stands  on  no  higher  plane.  It  is  of 
a  purely  natural  character.  It  is  a  psychic  fact. 
One  mode  of  concentrating  thought  aids  another. 
The  fact  that  the  poet  had  been  from  his  youth  in 

1  Con/,  lib.  vii.  cap   17.  2  The  Zohar. 

8  Paradiso,  xxxiii.  85-90.  *  11  Convito,  ii.  8.  p.  135. 


228    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

the  habit  of  depolarizing  the  organs  of  his  brain, 
and  of  thus  suspending  the  activity  of  the  sensory 
nerves,  prepared  him  for  similar  results  by  any 
other  mode  of  concentrating  thought.  And  so,  his 
trance  is  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  ecstasies  of 
a  Francis  of  Assisi  or  a  Theresa  of  Jesus.  These 
are  of  a  supernatural  character  and  the  fruition  of 
grace.  They  are,  in  the  language  of  Bonaventura, 
"  a  mystical  and  most  secret  thing,  which  no  one 
knows  save  him  who  receives  it,  and  no  one  receives 
it  save  him  who  deserves  it."  1 

4.  This  trance  —  be  its  nature  what  it  may  — 
marks  the  climax  of  the  poet's  feelings.  There- 
after his  note  assumes  a  more  subdued  tone.  The 
doubt  he  had  —  and  indeed  all  sincere  doubt  —  he 
defends  against  those  who  would  call  it  devil-born, 
and  he  asserts  that 

"  there  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds."  2 

Here  it  behooves  us  to  distinguish.  The  assertion 
cannot  be  accepted  in  a  universal  sense.  Where 
the  articles  of  one's  creed  are  received  upon  purely 
rational  grounds  as  matters  of  opinion,  or  credence, 
or  presumption,  or  as  highly  probable,  there  is  al- 
ways room  for  honest  doubt.  But  where  one's 
creed  is  a  matter  of  faith  pure  and  simple,  not  at 
all  depending  on  one's  reason,  but  grounded  upon 
a  Divine  revelation  speaking  through  an  infallible 
church,  doubt  concerning  the  mysteries  of  one's  re- 
ligion and  the  articles  of  one's  faith  is  out  of  place 
and  is  in  itself  sinful.  No  Catholic  may  apply 
these  lines  to  the  truths  of  his  faith.  Elsewhere 

1  Itinerarium,  chap.  vii.  2  In  Memoriam.  xcvi.  3. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    229 

the  poet  cautions  men  against  entering  the  chil- 
ling shadow  of  doubt,  and  defines  the  character  of 
the  faith  of  which  he  would  approve  :  — 

"Wherefore  thou  be  wise, 
Cleave  ever  to  the  sunnier  side  of  doubt, 
And  cling  to  Faith  beyond  the  forms  of  Faith."  l 

But  we  recognize  our  faith  in  our  forms.  The 
forms  are  not  more  than  the  faith,  but  when  vivi- 
fied by  the  faith  they  become  part  of  it.  After 
all,  is  there  not  some  cant  in  speaking  of  faith 
without  form?  Is  it  not  like  talking  of  religion 
without  dogma?  However,  though  a  Catholic  may 
not  doubt  the  essential  truths  of  his  religion  with- 
out incurring  guilt,  still  it  does  not  follow  that 
the  articles  of  his  creed  are  free  from  difficulties. 
On  this  point  there  exists  no  better  commentary 
than  the  lucid  words  of  another  great  light  in  Eng- 
lish literature.  He  says :  "  I  am  far,  of  course, 
from  denying  that  every  article  of  the  Christian 
Creed,  whether  as  held  by  Catholics  or  by  Protest- 
ants, is  beset  with  intellectual  difficulties ;  and  it  is 
simple  fact  that  for  myself  I  cannot  answer  these 
difficulties.  Many  persons  are  very  sensitive  of  the 
difficulties  of  religion ;  I  am  as  sensitive  as  any 
one ;  but  I  have  never  been  able  to  see  a  connec- 
tion between  apprehending  these  difficulties,  how- 
ever keen,  and  multiplying  them  to  any  extent, 
and  doubting  the  doctrines  to  which  they  are  at- 
tached. Ten  thousand  difficulties  do  not  make  one 
doubt,  as  I  understand  the  subject ;  difficulty  and 
doubt  are  incommensurate"1* 

1  The  Ancient  Sage. 

2  Cardinal  Newman,  Apologia  pro  Vita  Sud,  part  vii.  pp.  265. 


230    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

5.  One  indeed  the  poet  knew  who  had  honest 
doubts,  and  wrestled  with  them,  and  gained  renewed 
vigor  in  the  struggle  :  — 

"  He  fought  his  doubts  and  gathered  strength, 
He  would  not  make  his  judgment  blind, 
He  faced  the  spectres  of  the  mind 
And  laid  them."  l 

God  was  with  him  because  he  was  in  earnest.  God 
is  with  every  sincere  searcher  after  truth.  It  may 
be  presumed  that  the  one  here  alluded  to  is  Arthur 
Hallam.2 

6.  Another  year  brings   round  the  anniversary 
of  Arthur's  death.    The  sorrow  of  his  friend  has  in 
the  mean  time  divested  itself  of  all  selfishness.    His 
uppermost  thought  is  kinship  with  those  who  like 
him  bewail  the  absence  of  dear  departed  ones  :  — 

"  O  wheresoever  those  may  be, 

Betwixt  the  slumber  of  the  poles, 
To-day  they  count  as  kindred  souls  ; 
They  know  me  not,  but  mourn  with  me,"  8 

The  poet's  family  is  about  to  move  from  his  native 
Somersby.  This  gives  rise  to  an  admirable  series 
of  musings  with  which  Hallam's  memory  is  inter- 
woven. Every  scene  recalls  some  incident  or  other 
in  the  life  of  his  departed  friend :  — 

"  But  each  has  pleased  a  kindred  eye, 
.  And  each  reflects  a  kindlier  day  ; 

And,  leaving  these,  to  pass  away, 
I  think  once  more  he  seems  to  die."  * 

7.  The  night  before  leaving  the  old  rectory  the 

1  In  Memoriam,  xcvi.  4. 

2  Gatty,  A  Key  to  In  Memoriam,  p.  104. 

8  In  Memoriam,  xcix.  5.  4  Ibid.  c.  5. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  ME  MORI  AM    231 

author  has  another  dream  which  reminds  one  of  the 
passing  of  Arthur  in  the  "  Idylls  of  the  King." 
The  dream  is  allegorical.  The  process  of  uproot- 
ing old  affections  and  tearing  himself  away  from 
life-long  associations  has  wrought  upon  his  imagi- 
nation, and  this  parting  from  the  familiar  scenes 
with  which  the  memory  of  his  friend  is  commingled, 
he  projects  into  the  future  when  he  shall  pass  from 
life  and  meet  this  much-yearned-for  friend.  The 
dream  '  bringing  home  to  him  the  fact  that  every 
change  is  only  another  step  to  that  final  meeting  '  is 
to  him  a  source  of  comfort.  He  begins :  — 

"  Methought  I  dwelt  within  a  hall, 

And  maidens  with  me  :  distant  hills 
From  hidden  summits  fed  with  rills 
A  river  sliding  by  the  wall. ' '  * 

So  does  Tennyson  still  dwell  within  the  hall  of  his 
own  consciousness  and  personality.  All  alone  with 
his  talents  and  accomplishments  —  with  those 
maidens  known  as  the  Arts  and  the  Muses  —  has 
he  been  living,  while  beneath  him  flows  the  river  of 
Time  fed  by  the  rills  of  the  hours  and  the  minutes. 
In  the  centre  of  this  hall  stood  a  veiled  statue  to 
which  the  maidens  sang.  It  is  the  spotless  memory 
of  Arthur  to  which  he  is  consecrating  these  lays. 
But  a  dove  —  emblem  of  love  —  brings  him  a  sum- 
mons from  the  sea.  He  feels  called  to  other  life- 
duties  than  those  of  weaving  songs  around  the 
memory  of  his  friend.  He  must  proceed  to  f ullfil 
those  duties.  The  maidens  weep  lest  they  should 
now  be  neglected  ;  but  they  accompany  him.  And 

1  In  Memoriam,  ciii.  2. 


232    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

he  dreams  that  with  the  passing  of  time  the  maid- 
ens—  his  faculties  and  his  poetic  power  —  "gath- 
ered strength  and  grace  and  presence,  lordlier 
than  before,"  and  that  he  himself  felt  a  new  en- 
ergy in  his  life,  as  his  muses  poured  out  song  after 
song:  — 

"  As  one  would  sing  the  death  of  wax, 
And  one  would  chant  the  history 
Of  that  great  race,  which  is  to  be, 
And  one  the  shaping  of  a  star."  l 

And  now  the  frail  shallop  of  his  mortal  life  becomes 
too  frail  for  the  rolling  waves  and  the  foaming 
tides  ;  there  looms  into  view  the  safe  and  stately 
ship  on  which  he  finds  embarked  his  long-lost 
friend  now  grown  to  great  dimensions  in  every 
power  of  his  soul,  and  Tennyson  passes  to  the  more 
secure  vessel  and  falls  in  silence  upon  the  neck  of 
Arthur.  Thereupon  the  maidens  set  up  a  wail  on 
being  left  behind :  — 

"  Whereat  those  maidens  with  one  mind 

Bewailed  their  lot ;  I  did  them  wrong : 
'  We  served  thee  here,'  they  said,  '  so  long, 
And  wilt  thou  leave  us  now  behind  ?  ' 

"  So  rapt  I  was,  they  could  not  win 
An  answer  from  my  lips,  but  he 
Replying,  '  Enter  likewise  ye 
And  go  with  us '  :  they  entered  in."  2 

In  these  stanzas  the  poet  would  convey  his  belief 
that  in  the  life  beyond  the  grave  man  shall  con- 
tinue to  possess  every  talent  and  every  perfection 
of  soul  that  helped  to  make  life  noble  and  beau- 
tiful on  earth. 

1  In  Memoriam,  ciii.  9.  2  Ibid.  ciii.  12,  13. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  ME  MORI  AM    233 

8.  Here  ends  the  purely  psychological  portion  of 
the  drama.  The  remaining  lyrics  are  chiefly  retro- 
spective. But  in  order  to  make  their  meaning 
apparent  we  must  now  return  and  take  up  another 
series  which  are  speculative  and  scientific,  and 
which  run  through  the  whole  drama  like  a  silver 
thread,  giving  it  unity  and  strength. 


VIII. 

1.  '\In   Memoriam"   is  not  only  an  elegy  em- 
balming the  memory  of  a  dear  friend ;  it  is  also  the 
poetical  expression  of  a  soul's  moral  and  intellec- 
tual growth  through  sorrow  and  through  strife  with 
the  difficulties  that  beset  the  truths  and  mysteries 
of  religion.     He  that  has  never  known  sorrow  has 
yet  to  penetrate  the  inner  sanctuary  and  the  most 
sacred  chambers  of  life,  and  the  meaning  of  exis- 
tence is  for  him  a  sealed  book ;  he    that  has  not 
wrestled  with  the  difficulties  that  beset  an  act  of 
religious  faith  is  still  in  a  state  of  mental  child- 
hood.    Through  suffering  and  tribulation  of  spirit 
man  rises  to  strength  and  power  and  greatness  of 
soul ;  through  profound  study  he  climbs  heights  in 
which  his  mental  vision  has  a  clearer  atmosphere 
and  a  more  expansive  horizon.     And  so,  the  les- 
son of  the  poem  is  that  the  soul  may  rise  to  higher 
things  by  overcoming  grief  and  silencing  doubt. 

2.  This  lesson   is  not  perceptible   upon  a  first 
reading.      And  that  it   is  not  is   due  to  the  fact 
that  the  poet  never  loses  sight  of  the  fundamental 
distinction  between  poetry  and  philosophy.      The 


234    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

sphere  of  each  is  distinct ;  the  method  is  distinct ; 
the  aim  is  distinct.  Philosophy  deals  with  ab- 
stractions ;  it  lays  down  its  premises  with  care,  and 
sees  that  no  link  in  the  chain  of  its  reasoning  is 
wanting  ;  it  formally  draws  its  conclusions.  Poetry 
is  concerned  with  the  concrete,  or  if  it  introduces 
abstract  truths  it  renders  them  concrete  by  giv- 
ing them  a  local  habitation  and  a  name  ;  it  places 
itself  in  the  heart  of  a  subject,  and  expresses  in 
rhythmic  language  the  thought  still  palpitating 
with  life.  Tennyson  has  defined  the  poetic  method 
as  pursued  by  himself  in  the  present  instance :  — 

"  From  art,  from  nature,  from  the  schools, 
Let  random  influences  glance, 
Like  light  in  many  a  shivered  lance 
That  breaks  about  the  dappled  pools."  1 

But  that  which  is  apparently  random  has  none  the 
less  a  purpose  running  through  it.  The  silent 
work  —  the  earnest  thought  and  deep  study  —  is 
not  visible,  but  it  is  there,  making  of  the  poem  a 
thing  of  life  and  power.  Though  the  poet  speaks 
throughout  in  the  first  person,  it  is  not  his  own 
doubts  he  is  solving ;  it  is  not  the  progress  of  his 
own  soul  he  is  tracing ;  it  is  the  story  of  the  inner 
life  of  humanity  he  is  narrating.  "  '  I,'  "  to  use  his 
"own  words,  "  in  these  poems,  is  not  always  the 
author  speaking  of  himself,  but  the  voice  of  the  hu- 
man race  speaking  through  him."  2  To  this  canon 
of  interpretation  we  shall  supply  another.  It  has 

1  In  Memoriam,  xlix.  1. 

2  Note  signed  "  A.  T.,"  prefixed  to  Gatty's  Key  to  In  Memo- 
riam. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    235 

been  asserted  with  some  show  of  reason  that  Ten- 
nyson's eulogy  of  his  friend  Hallam  is  exaggerated. 
Though  the  young  man  gave  promise  of  much, 
he  never  could  have  achieved  all  the  greatness  fan- 
cied for  him  by  the  poet.  Mr.  Peter  Bayne  dis- 
cusses the  matter  in  an  apologetic  tone.  "  Exagger- 
ation, however,  on  this  point,"  he  says,  "  was  the 
most  venial  of  faults  in  the  writer  of  '  In  Memo- 
riam,'  and  he,  I  think,  must  be  base  indeed  who 
fails  to  perceive  the  inimitable  marks  of  sincer- 
ity and  affection  in  Tennyson's  delineation  of  his 
friend."  1  But  here  as  elsewhere  Mr.  Bayne  has 
misunderstood  the  intentions  of  Tennyson.  Pre- 
cisely as  the  "  I "  of  the  poem  came  to  stand  for 
the  whole  human  race,  even  so  the  "  Arthur "  of 
the  poem  has  become  idealized  into  the  representa- 
tive of  all  that  is  or  could  be  excellent  in  a  de- 
ceased friend.  Arthur  is  intended  to  embody  the 
highest  type  of  humanity  cut  off  in  the  bud.  These 
distinctions  are  of  the  utmost  importance.  They 
throw  light  upon  much  in  the  poem  that  would 
otherwise  remain  obscure.  The  progress  of  the 
soul  is  revealed  in  the  recording  of  its  various 
moods  when  wrestling  with  doubt,  or  questioning 
science,  or  solving  some  ethical  difficulty.  The 
reader  is  led  to  infer  what  is  going  on  beneath  the 
surface  expression.  This  much  the  poet  is  careful 
to  hint  at  in  the  following  stanzas  :  — 

"  If  these  brief  lays,  of  Sorrow  born, 
Were  taken  to  be  such  as  closed 

1  Lessons  from  my  Masters,  p.  309. 


236    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Grave  doubts  and  answers  here  proposed, 
Then  these  were  such  as  men  might  scorn  : 

"  Her  care  is  not  to  part  and  prove ; 
She  takes,  when  harsher  moods  remit, 
What  slender  shade  of  doubt  may  flit, 
And  makes  it  vassal  unto  love.1'  1 

3.  Before   the   awful  mystery  of  the  grave,  in 
presence  of  the  clash  and  force  of  unknown  ener- 
gies, humanity  asks  many  difficult  questions,  and 
doubt  and  infidelity  suggest  many  serious  objec- 
tions, but  Love  finds  the  answer  and  Faith  reads 
the  solution.     Love  is  the  key  with  which  Tenny- 
son unlocks  all  difficulties :  — 

"  If  e'er  when  faith  had  fallen  asleep, 
I  heard  a  voice  '  believe  no  more,' 
And  heard  an  ever-breaking  shore 
That  tumbled  in  the  Godless  deep  ; 

"  A  warmth  within  the  breast  would  melt 

The  freezing  reason's  colder  part, 

And  like  a  man  in  wrath  the  heart 

Stood  up  and  answered  '  I  have  felt.'  "  2 

The  very  instincts  of  the  heart  cry  out  in  solemn 
protest  against  the  sophistries  of  materialism  and 
atheism.  The  fool  may  deny  that  there  is  a  God, 
but  man  exclaims :  "  I  have  felt  his  presence  with- 
in my  heart  of  hearts  ;  I  have  heard  his  voice 
speak  to  my  conscience." 

4.  Let  us  now  see  how  the  poet  makes  use  of 
this  key.     Every  cultured  mind  is  in  duty  bound 
to  face  the  issues  of  the  day  and  study  to  unravel 
their  intricacies.     What  is  the  solution  that  Tenny- 

1  In  Memoriam,  xlviii.  1,2.  2  Ibid,  cxxiv.  3,  4 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    237 

son  proposes  ?  In  the  first  influx  of  his  grief  we 
find  him  puzzled  about  the  multiplicity  of  creeds. 
He  often  stumbles  —  "often  falling  lame" — while 
wandering  towards  where  sits  Death,  — 

"  The  shadow  cloaked  from  head  to  foot 
Who  keeps  the  keys  of  all  the  creeds."  * 

"We  have  already  found  his  solution  in  a  faith  be- 
yond all  forms  and  the  Universalism  of  his  friend 
Frederick  Maurice.  We  have  also  seen  how  he 
regards  doubt.  Had  he  in  his  religious  gropings 
ever  touched  upon  the  creed  that  in  its  fullness 
contains  all  the  truth  of  all  the  other  creeds  ?  He 
has  given  no  evidence  of  it ;  but  as  we  are  study- 
ing his  poem  from  the  Catholic  point  of  view,  we 
may  quote  the  following  remarks  :  "  He  regards 
as  sacred  whatever  links  the  soul  to  a  divine 
truth.  He  has  many  friends  who  are  Catholics, 
and  we  have  heard  that  he  has  expressed  sincere 
anxiety  to  publish  nothing  relative  to  the  Catho- 
lic religion  calculated  to  give  offense  to  its  follow- 
ers."2 

5v  The  poet  thus  admonishes  him  who  would 
meddle  with  this  life  of  simple  faith  —  who  would 
blight  or  poison  it  with  his  doubts  or  sneers  — 
the  man  who  has  in  his  own  conceit  raised  himself 
above  all  forms  of  creed  and  dogma :  — 

"  Leave  thou  thy  sister  when  she  prays, 
Her  early  heaven,  her  happy  views ; 
Nor  thou  with  shadowed  hint  confuse 
A  life  that  leads  melodious  days. 

1  In  Memoriam,  xxiii.  1,  2. 

2  J.  C.  Earle  in  The  Catholic  World,  vol.  vii.  p.  146. 


238    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

"  Her  faith  through  form  is  pure  as  thine, 

Her  hands  are  quicker  unto  good : 

Oh,  sacred  be  the  flesh  and  blood 

To  which  she  links  a  truth  divine !  " 1 

The  divine  truth  she  has  linked  to  flesh  and  blood 
is  the  seeing  of  God  incarnate  in  the  Person  of 
Christ.  But  the  author  not  only  defends  the 
simple  faith  and  the  life  of  prayer  and  good  works 
based  on  the  divinity  of  Christ ;  he  goes  farther 
and  cautions  the  pantheist, 

"  Whose  faith  has  centre  everywhere," 

who  would  be  a  law  unto  himself,  to  beware  lest  in 
this  sinful  world  for  want  of  the  Sacred  Type  and 
Model  he  fail :  — 

"  See  thou  that  countest  reason  ripe 
In  holding  by  the  law  within, 
Thou  fail  not  in  a  world  of  sin, 
And  even  for  want  of  such  a  type."  2 

6.  Is  there  a  future  life?  His  own  existence 
has  meaning  only  in  the  assumption  that  there  is 
an  hereafter,  else  life's  struggles  were  aimless  and 
hopeless  and  God  were  naught  to  his  creatures  :  — 

"  My  own  dim  life  should  teach  me  this, 
That  life  shall  live  for  evermore, 
Else  earth  is  darkness  at  the  core, 
And  dust  and  ashes  all  that  is."  8 

Going  deeper  still,  Tennyson  finds  in  the  love  he 
bears  his  friend  —  in  all  true  love  —  an  argument 
for  his  immortality  ;  for  true  love  is  the  one  thing 

1  In  Memoriam,  xxxiii.  2,  3.  2  Ibid,  rxxiii.  4. 

8  Ibid,  xxxiv.  1  ;  cf.  Browning,  La  Saisiaz,  Am.  ed.  vol.  vi.  p.  62. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    239 

worth  living  for,  and  though  assured  that  this  life 
were  the  be-all  and  the  end-all,  he  would  still  think 
it  worth  living  for  the  sake  of  that  love  :  — 

"  Might  I  not  say, '  Yet  even  here, 
But  for  one  hour,  O  Love,  I  strive 
To  keep  so  sweet  a  thing  alive.'  "  * 

But  then  without  the  instinct  of  immortality  love 
had  not  been  :  — 

"  O  me,  what  profits  it  to  put 

An  idle  case  ?     If  Death  were  seen 

At  first  as  Death,  Love  had  not  been."  2 

Browning  in  his  "Easter-Day"  has  forcibly  and  mag- 
nificently brought  home  the  truth  that  the  absence 
of  the  higher  love  of  God  were  the  death  of  all 
human  love.  But  reason  how  we  may  upon  the 
dark  truths  centred  in  our  mystic  frame,  we  have 
an  unfailing  refuge  against  all  our  doubts  and  the 
questionings  of  our  soul  in  our  Lord  and  Saviour  ; 
for  in  Him  shall  we  find  the  embodiment  of  all  wis- 
dom, the  meaning  of  all  life,  and  the  solution  to  all 
our  difficulties :  — 

"  And  so  the  Word  had  breath,  and  wrought 
With  human  hands  the  creed  of  creeds 
In  loveliness  of  perfect  deeds, 
More  strong  than  all  poetic  thought."  8 

7.  And  now,  the  poet  having  found  "comfort 
clasped  with  truth  revealed,"  believing  in  the  im- 

1  In  Memoriam,  xxxv.  2.  2  Ibid.  xxxv.  3. 

8  Ibid,  xxxvi.  3 ;  cf .  Browning,  A  Death  in  the  Desert,  474-477 :  — 

I 

"  I  say,  the  acknowledgment  of  God  in  Christ 
Accepted  by  thy  reason,  solves  for  thee 
All  questions  in  the  earth  and  out  of  it, 
And  has  HO  far  advanced  thee  to  be  wise-" 


240    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

mortality  of  the  soul,  he  follows  Arthur  in  various 
conjectures  as  to  the  nature  of  his  future  state. 
What  if  in  this  new  life  Arthur  should  grow  be- 
yond his  reach  ? 

"  Though  following  with  an  upward  mind 
The  wonders  that  have  come  to  thee, 
Through  all  the  secular  to-he, 
But  evermore  a  life  behind." l 

What  if  Arthur  would  gladly  renew  intercourse 
with  his  friend  when  they  meet  in  the  other  world  — 

"  And  he  the  much-beloved  again, 
A  lord  of  large  experience,  train 
To  riper  growth  the  mind  and  will  ?  "  2 

Or  what  if  sleep  and  death  be  truly  one,  and  he 
should  slumber  on  in  one  long  trance  and  then 
awaken  to  the  old  thoughts  and  the  old  love  ?  This 
conjecture  was  no  fancy  of  Tennyson's  brain.  It 
was  taught  and  defended  in  the  last  century  by 
Priestley.  He  believed  in  a  resurrection  of  the 
body,  but  he  held  that  there  was  no  soul  apart 
from  the  body.  "If  therefore,"  he  writes,  "any 
person  does  firmly  believe  that  he  shall  live  again, 
and  receive  according  to  his  works  ...  of  what 
consequence  is  it  whether  he  believe  he  has  a  soul 
or  not?  It  is  enough  that  he  believes  that  his 
power  of  thinking  (which  is  the  only  province  of 
a  soul)  will  be  restored  to  him  at  the  resurrection, 
and  that  he  will  have  a  perfect  recollection  of  all 
the  transactions  of  the  present  life'''  3  And  so,  the 
• 

1  In  Memoriam,  xli.  6.  2  Ibid.  xlii.  2. 

8  Letters  to  Young  Men  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  1788,  iv.  §  5, 
p.  72. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    241 

poet  dwells  upon  this  theory  of  death,  and  fancies 
that  through  the  long  sleep,  — 

"  love  will  last  as  pure  and  whole 
As  when  he  loved  me  here  in  Time, 
And  at  the  spiritual  prime 
Re  waken  with  the  dawning  soul."  l 

Or  again,  regarding  the  Platonic  doctrine  of  pre- 
existence,  he  asks :  What  if  it  is  with  Arthur  in 
the  other  life  as  it  is  with  man  here  below,  who 
though  he  forgets  his  preexistent  state  has  still  an 
occasional  glimpse  —  "a  little  flash, /a  mystic  hint " 
—  of  the  past,  and  Arthur  also  gets  an  occasional 
glimpse  of  the  old  life :  "  some  dim  touch  of 
earthly  things  "  surprises  him  ?  And  he  addresses 
his  friend :  — 

"  If  such  a  dreamy  touch  should  fall, 

O  turn  thee  round,  resolve  the  doubt ; 
My  guardian  angel  will  speak  out 
In  that  high  place,  and  tell  thee  all."  2 

Be  the  conjecture  what  it  may,  the  author  is  con- 
vinced that  there  will  be  a  loving  recognition,  and 
that  his  chilling  fears  arising  from  the  spectral 
doubt  that  he  would  no  longer  enjoy  companion- 
ship with  Arthur  are  vain. 

8.  Here  I  would  call  attention  to  a  peculiar  doc- 
trine woven  into  the  poem  as  regards  both  past  and 
future  states  of  the  soul.  In  the  lyric  last  quoted 
we  find  clearly  stated  the  doctrine  of  preexistence : 

"  Here  the  man  is  more  and  more  ; 

But  he  forgets  the  days  before 
God  shut  the  doorways  of  his  head. 

1  In  Memoriam,  xliii.  4.  2  Ibid.  xliv.  4. 


242    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

* 

"  The  days  have  vanished,  tone  and  tint, 
And  yet  perhaps  the  hoarding-  sense 
Gives  out  at  times  (he  knows  not  whence) 
A  little  flash,  a  mystic  hint."  1 

That  this  doctrine  of  preexistence  is  part  of  Ten- 
nyson's thinking  —  part  at  least  of  his  poetical  fur- 
niture ;  the  distinction  is  an  important  one  —  be- 
comes clear  from  a  glance  at  his  works.  We  read 
it  in  that  thoughtful  poem,  "  The  Two  Voices :  "  - 

"  It  may  be  that  no  life  is  found, 
Which  only  to  one  engine  bound 
Falls  off",  but  cycles  always  round. 

"  As  old  mythologies  relate, 
Some  draught  of  Lethe  might  await 
The  slipping  through  from  state  to  state. 

"  Moreover,  something  is  or  seems, 
That  touches  me  with  mystic  gleams, 
Like  glimpses  of  forgotten  dreams  — 

"  Of  something  felt,  like  something  here  ; 
Of  something  done,  I  know  not  where; 
Such  as  no  language  may  declare." 

Evidently  the  doctrine  here  laid  down  is  opposed 
to  our  Christian  belief  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
body.  For  if  there  be  no  life  bound  to  "  one  en- 
gine," that  is,  to  a  single  body,  then  indeed  does 
every  new  cycle  of  the  soul  call  for  a  new  habita- 
tion. And  yet,  in  a  poem  upon  the  death  of  his 
friend  Spedding  we  read  :  — 

"  Lie  still,  dry  dust,  secure  of  change,"  2 

whereby  the  writer  would  convey  the  idea  of  an- 
other state  for  the  dust.  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is 

1  In  Memoriam,  xliv.  2,  3.  2  Lines  to  J.  S. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    243 

of  Catholic  faith  that  every  human  body  has  within 
itself  the  germ  of  immortality,  and  that  the  soul  will 
once  more  be  united  to  the  body  in  another  state, 
and  under  another  order  of  existence.  "The  soul," 
says  St.  Thomas,  "  is  naturally  united  to  the  body, 
for  according  to  its  very  essence  it  is  the  form  of 
the  body.  It  is  therefore  unnatural  that  the  soul 
remain  without  the  body.  But  nothing  that  is  op- 
posed to  nature  can  so  continue  forever.  Therefore 
the  soul  cannot  exist  perpetually  without  the  body. 
Hence,  if  the  soul  is  to  exist  perpetually  it  must 
become  reunited  to  the  body,  which  is  the  resurrec- 
tion. And  so,  the  immortality  of  the  soul  calls  for 
a  future  resurrection  of  the  body."1  And  this 
teaching  is  in  accord  with  reason.  For  the  perfec- 
tion of  any  creature  consists  in  this,  that  nothing 
be  wanting  to  its  nature  as  conceived  or  planned 
by  the  Creator,  even  as  God's  own  perfection 
consists  in  the  completeness  of  his  infinite  Nature.2 
Therefore  do  human  perfection  and  human  happi- 
ness imply  a  union  of  body  and  soul,  as  the  two 
essential  elements  of  a  human  personality. 

IX. 

1.  Tennyson  holds  another  peculiar  doctrine 
regarding  the  future  states  of  the  soul.  He  holds 
that  the  soul  passes  from  state  to  state  through 
the  various  cycles  of  the  aeons  that  are  to  be,  gath- 
ering strength  according  to  the  degree  of  its  well- 

1  Contra  Gentes,  lib.  iv.  cap.  79. 

2  Summa.  Theol.  Supp.  Quaest.  Ixxvii.  art.  1.  ad.  4. 


244    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

doing  in  each  for  nobler  and  more  perfect  func- 
tions in  the  succeeding  state.  The  past  is  left 
behind  as  a  butterfly  leaves  its  chrysalis :  — 

"  Eternal  process  moving  on, 

From  state  to  state  the  spirit  walks, 
And  these  are  but  the  shattered  stalks, 
Or  ruined  chrysalis  of  one"  1 

A  soul  growing  and  developing  may  afterwards 
resume  possession  of  its  body,  and  the  body  may 
reflect  the  splendor  of  its  higher  state.  But  a  soul 
undergoing  transformations,  each  one  of  which  is 
a  distinct  state  or  a  distinct  plane  of  existence,  is 
rather  to  be  conceived  as  passing  away  forever 
from  its  earthly  tenement.  So  the  Essenes  held. 
Although  believing  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
they  denied  the  resurrection  of  the  body. 2  There 
is  a  similar  doctrine  of  future  states  touched  upon 
by  Browning  in  his  "  Evelyn  Hope  :  " 

"  Delayed  it  may  be^br  me  more  lives  yet, 

Through  worlds  I  shall  traverse  not  a  few: 
Much  is  to  learn,  much  to  forget 

Ere  the  time  be  come  for  taking  you." 

2.  This  is  an  ancient  doctrine  not  to  be  con- 
founded with  the  teachings  of  Buddha.  Nor  is 
it  to  be  in  all  respects  identified  with  neo-Platon- 
ism.  Plotinus  did  not  hold  it.  Traces  of  it  are 
to  be  found  in  the  writings  of  Origen.3  Porphyry, 
who  is  supposed  to  have  made  some  studies  under 
Origen,  attempted  to  reconcile  the  doctrine  with 
the  ideas  of  Plotinus.  Proclus  saw  no  limit  to 

1  In  Memoriam,  Ixxxii.  2. 

2  C.  D.  Ginsburg,  The  Essenes,  p.  22. 

8  Huet,  Origeniana,  liv.  ii.  cap.  ii.  quaest.  6. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    245 

the  descent  of  the  soul  to  earthly  life  and  back 
again  to  spiritual  existence.  He  held  the  soul  to 
be  "  in  continual  movement  descending  in  genera- 
tion and  ascending  towards  the  gods  incessantly."  l 
It  was  passed  down  among  certain  sects  of  the 
early  Christians  as  an  esoteric  teaching  known  only 
to  an  initiated  few.  It  was  condemned  in  the  fifth 
Ecumenical  Council  held  in  Constantinople  in  the 
year  381.  St.  Jerome  cautions  the  virgin  Deme- 
triada  against  the  doctrine  as  "  an  hereditary 
evil."  2  The  doctrine  of  preexistence  was  funda- 
mental in  the  teachings  of  the  Jewish  Cabala. 
Therein  was  it  taught  that  every  soul  is  created 
with  the  indestructible  germs  of  a  certain  degree 
of  perfection ;  that  if  its  first  life  on  earth  has  not 
been  such  as  to  cause  these  germs  to  develop  to 
their  full  bloom  of  flower  and  harvest  of  fruit,  the 
soul  assumes  another  body  and  develops  other  per- 
fections, and  continues  to  return  until  every  germ 
has  been  fully  developed. 

3.  This  idea  of  bodily  resumption  after  the  pres- 
ent stage  of  existence  both  Tennyson  and  Brown- 
ing have  rejected  for  what  they  consider  the  more 
spiritual  idea  of  life  rising  and  expanding  through 
cycles  of  aeons  in  other  states  of  existence.  And 
has  not  Tennyson  a  trace  of  the  following  teaching 
in  his  doctrine  of  reminiscence  ?  We  read :  "  Just 
as  before  creation  all  beings  were  present  in  the  di- 
vine thought,  under  the  form  proper  to  them,  even 
so  all  human  souls  before  descending  to  this  world 

1  Vacherot,  Histoire  Critique  de  V  Ecole  d' Alexandrie,  t.  ii.  p.  368. 

2  Epist.  cxxx.  16,  Ad  Demetriadem. 


246    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

existed  with  God  in  heaven  under  the  form  that 
they  preserved  here  below,  and  all  that  they  learn 
on  earth  they  knew  before  arriving  thereon." 1  St. 
Cyril  held  that  they  were  believers  in  a  preexist- 
ent  state,  who  asked  our  Lord  :  "  Rabbi,  who  hath 
sinned,  this  man  or  his  parents,  that  he  should  be 
born  blind?"2  Perhaps  some  holding  the  belief 
of  the  Essenes  had  become  disciples  of  Jesus,  and 
they  did  not  all  at  once  rid  themselves  of  the  false 
teaching.  The  doctrines  of  preexistence  and  of 
future  states  of  development  for  the  soul  have 
passed  down  to  the  present  day  in  a  continuous 
stream  of  tradition  and  in  various  forms,  from 
pre-Christian  times,  with  other  esoteric  theories. 
It  is  evident  that  Tennyson  and  Browning  imbibed 
these  doctrines  from  some  or  several  of  the  many 
channels  through  which  they  flowed.  Accordingly, 
Tennyson  fancied  his  friend  working  out  the  unde- 
veloped germs  of  his  greatness  and  his  perfections, 
and  meriting  applause  in  his  new  state  :  — 

"  But  somewhere,  out  of  human  view, 

Whatever  thy  hands  are  set  to  do 
Is  wrought  with  tumult  of  acclaim."11  3 

4.  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  the  whole  doc- 
trine of  progressive  development  from  state  to  state 
beyond  the  present  is  not  the  Christian  doctrine  of 
the  life  succeeding  death.  Not  that  the  Christian 

1  Zohar,  quoted  in  Diet,  des  Sc.  Phil.  p.  854.     The  doctrine  of 
the  Zohar   has  been  formally  revived  in  more   recent   times  by 
Pierre  Leroux  and  Charles  Fourier.     Browning1  may  have  become 
imbued  with  it  in  getting1  up  material  for  his  Paracelsus. 

2  See  Maldonatus,  Comment,  in  Joan.  cap.  ix.  2. 
8  In  Memoriam,  Ixxy.  5. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    247 

does  not  recognize  progress  in  the  new  state.  The 
soul  will  ever  grow  in  wisdom  and  knowledge.  It 
will  never  cease  to  learn,  for  it  contemplates  an 
infinite  essence  the  riches  of  whose  glory  are  inex- 
haustible. St.  Augustin  becomes  indignant  over 
the  neo-Platonic  theory  of  recurring  cycles.  He 
asks,  "  Who,  I. say,  can  listen  to  such  things?  Who 
can  accept  or  suffer  them  to  be  spoken  ?  .  .  .  God 
forbid  that  there  be  any  truth  in  an  opinion  which 
threatens  us  with  a  real  misery  that  is  never  to  end, 
but  is  often  and  needlessly  to  be  interrupted  by  in- 
tervals of  fallacious  happiness."  1  And  in  another 
place  the  same  holy  doctor,  speaking  of  the  various 
periods  of  the  world's  history  ending  in  the  ever- 
lasting Sabbath  enjoyed  by  the  saints  in  heaven, 
says  :  "  After  this  period  God  shall  rest  on  the 
seventh  day,  when  He  shall  give  us  (who  shall  be 
the  seventh  day)  rest  in  Himself.  .  .  .  The  sev- 
enth day  shall  be  our  Sabbath,  which  shall  be 
brought  to  a  close,  not  by  an  evening,  but  by  the 
Lord's  day,  as  an  eighth  and  eternal  day,  conse- 
crated by  the  resurrection  of  Christ,  and  prefigur- 
ing the  eternal  repose  not  only  of  the  spirit,  but 
also  of  the  body.  There  we  shall  rest  and  behold, 
behold  and  love,  love  and  praise.  This  is  what 
shall  be  in  the  end  without  end.  For  what  other 
end  do  we  propose  to  ourselves  than  to  attain  to 
the  kingdom  of  which  there  is  no  end  ?  "  2  This 
is  the  Catholic  doctrine  of  heaven.  It  is  the  doc- 
trine that  Dante  has  transmitted  in  his  noble 

1  De  Civ.  Dei,  lib.  xii.  cap.  xx. 

2  Ibid.  lib.  xxii.  cap.  xxx.  5. 


248    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

poem  :  "  We  have  issued  forth,"  he  says,  "  from  the 
last  body  to  the  heaven  which  is  pure  light :  light 
intellectual  full  of  love  ;  love  of  true  good  full  of 
j°y ;  joy  surpassing  every  sweetness." 1 


1.  Tennyson  continues  to  grapple  with  the  prob- 
lem of  life  beyond  the  grave.  Who  can  solve  all 
the  questionings  that  arise  in  the  presence  of 
death?  But  there  are  certain  truths  which  are 
postulated  by  him  regarding  the  future  state. 
Among  these  is  the  truth  that  we  retain  our  iden- 
tity. The  babe  is  not  conscious  :  — 

"  But  as  he  grows  he  gathers  much, 

And  learns  the  use  of  '  I,'  and  '  me, ' 
And  finds  '  I  am  not  what  I  see, 
And  other  than  the  things  I  touch.'  "  2 

Man  is  one  in  substance  and  one  in  all  his  opera- 
tions ;  one  in  his  senses  and  one  in  his  thoughts ; 
this  one  so  feeling  and  thinking  and  acting  is  a 
combination  of  body  and  soul  which  forms  a  dis- 
tinct personality.  Now  this  consciousness  of  self 
must  remain  with  the  soul  hereafter ;  it  is  in  the 
economy  of  things  that  it  should,  otherwise 

"  had  man  to  learn  himself  anew 
Beyond  the  second  birth  of  Death." 

Another  truth  postulated  in  the  poem  is  that  while 
in  time  the  past  is  foreshortened  and  memory 
forgets  many  things,  in  eternity  the  mental  vision 
must  needs  be  clear :  — 

1  Paradiso,  xxx.  39-43.  2  In  Memoriam,  xlv.  2. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    249 

"  There  no  shade  can  last, 
In  that  deep  dawn  behind  the  tomb, 
But  clear  from  marge  to  marge  shall  bloom 
The  eternal  landscape  of  the  past."  l 

2.  Tennyson  rejects  the  pantheistic  notion  of 
the  neo-Platonists  that  the  human  soul  should  be 
finally  remerged  in  the  general  Soul.  He  calls  it 
"  faith  as  vague  as  all  unsweet,"  and  says :  — 

"  Eternal  form  shall  still  divide 
The  eternal  soul  from  all  beside," 

and  avers  that  each  soul  shall  know  the  other.  But 
as  a  final  fancy,  he  for  a  moment  admits  the  sup- 
position of  absorption  in  this  general  Soul,  and  says 
that  even  should  the  individual  soul  be  destined 
ultimately  to  lose  its  identity,  he  holds  love  to  be 
so  strong  and  so  persistent  that  the  spirit  of  his 
friend  would  await  his  own,  to  clasp  it  and  bid  it 
farewell  before  losing  itself  in  the  light :  — 

"  He  seeks  at  least 
Upon  the  last  and  sharpest  height, 
Before  the  spirits  fade  away, 
Some  landing-place,  to  clasp  and  say, 
'  Farewell !  we  lose  ourselves  in  light.'  "  2 

And  since  the  soul  is  immortal,  and  here  below  in  a 
transition  and  probationary  state,  the  poet  would 
have  his  friend  near  him— -that  is,  the  man  so  be- 
lieving would  have  departed  souls  whom  he  loved 
with  a  pure  and  elevating  love  near  him  —  in  every 
crisis  of  life,  in  sickness  and  temptation,  and  at  the 
hour  of  death.  This  is  not  unlike  the  Catholic  doc- 

1  In  Memoriam,  xlvi.  2. 

2  Ibid,  xlvii.  3,  4.     This  has  been  erroneously  interpreted  as  a 
formal  expression  of  Tennyson's  supposed  pantheism. 


250  PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

trine  of  the  Communion  of  Saints,  save  that  Ten- 
nyson's is  a  natural  desire,  whereas  the  Catholic 
doctrine  stands  upon  a  supernatural  plane.  The 
saints  are  souls  to  whom  men  look  with  reverence 
and  admiration,  the  very  thought  of  whose  lives 
and  virtues  is  inspiring,  and  who  as  God's  special 
friends  have  power  to  hear  and  help  us.  Note  how 
in  this  same  lyric  the  poet  lashes  those  anti-Chris- 
tian writers  who  assail  the  faith,  deposit  their  poi- 
sonous words  in  men's  souls,  and  then  pass  to  their 
deserved  oblivion :  — 

"  Be  near  me  when  my  faith  is  dry. 
And  men  the  flies  of  latter  spring, 
That  lay  their  eggs,  and  sting  and  sing, 
And  weave  their  petty  cells  and  die"  1 

3.  An  objection  occurs  to  the  poet.  Can  we  bear 
that  the  dead  should  read  our  hearts  with  all  their 
frailties  ?  He  asks :  — 

"  Do  we  indeed  desire  the  dead 

Should  still  be  near  us  at  our  side  ? 
Is  there  no  baseness  we  would  hide  ? 
No  inner  vileness  that  we  dread  ?  "  2 

And  he  answers  that  the  dead  see  our  frailties  and 
our  sins,  but  they  see  them 

"  with  larger  other  eyes  than  ours, 
To  make  allowance  for  us  all." 

He,  furthermore,  brings  us  the  consoling  doctrine 
that  though  sin  attaches  to  all,  in  the  end  the  true 
shall  be  sifted  from  the  false,  the  good  from  the 
evil:  — 

"  So  fret  not,  like  an  idle  girl, 

That  life  is  dashed  with  flecks  of  sin. 

1  In  Memoriam,  1.  3.  2  Ibid.  H.  1. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    251 

Abide :  thy  wealth  is  gathered  in, 
When  Time  hath  sundered  shell  from  pearl."  l 

This,  we  take  for  granted,  implies  repentance  for 
the  sins  committed,  and  as  far  as  possible  repara- 
tion for  the  injury  done  one's  neighbor.  Otherwise 
Tennyson  does  not  rise  above  the  false  position  of 
Goethe  in  his  "  Faust,"  who,  as  has  already  been 
seen,  saves  his  hero  without  either  repentance  or 
reparation :  — 

"  The  noble  spirit  now  is  free, 
And  saved  from  evil  scheming : 
Whoe'er  aspires  unweariedly 
Is  not  beyond  redeeming. 

"  And  if  he  feels  the  grace  of  Love 
That  from  on  high  is  given  ; 
The  Blessed  Hosts  that  wait  above, 
Shall  welcome  him  to  Heaven."  2 

4.  The  poet  is  here  led  to  touch  upon  ethical  dif- 
ficulties. He  knows  many  a  dignified  father  of  a 
family,  who  is  now  a  pattern  to  his  boys,  but  who 
in  his  younger  days  was  reckless  enough.  Dare 
it  be  said  that  this  father  is  all  the  better  for  his 
early  wildness  ?  Tennyson  does  not  encourage  such 
teaching.  It  is  a  snare  and  a  delusion  to  youth, 
however  encouraging  it  may  be  to  the  man  who  has 
survived  "  the  heats  of  youth."  So  he  will  have  no 
tampering  with  the  lines  between  good  and  evil. 
He  insists  upon  keeping  them  clearly  defined :  — 

"  Hold  thou  the  good :  define  it  well : 
For  fear  divine  Philosophy 

1  In  Memoriam,  Hi.  4. 

2  Faust.  Pt.  ii.  Chorus  of  the  Angels.     Bayard  Taylor's  transla- 
tion, p.  424. 


252    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Should  push  beyond  her  mark,  and  be 
Procuress  to  the  Lords  of  Hell."  l 

True  it  is,  as  we  have  already  noticed,  Tennyson 
weakens  his  position,  and  almost  undoes  what  is 
sound  in  his  teaching  by  proclaiming  in  the  very 
next  lyric  that  ,all  things  converge  to  a  universal 
good,  and  that  even  as  every  winter  changes  to 
spring  so  shall  good  be  the  final  goal  of  ill.  This 
we  have  found  to  be  one  of  the  cardinal  points  of 
his  creed. 

XI. 

1.  Still  another  serious  objection  arises:  it  is 
evidently  a  divine  instinct  implanted  in  man  that 
he  should  desire  to  see  everything  in  this  life  ful- 
fill its  aim,  and  that  he  should  trust  to  see  in  the 
other  all  the  broken  threads  taken  up  and  woven 
into  the  plan  and  purpose  of  God's  will.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  here  is  Nature  so  improvident,  and 
so  careless  of  the  individual  life,  seemingly  destroy- 
ing thousands  that  a  single  type  may  be  preserved. 
How  reconcile  the  fact  with  the  divine  instinct? 

"  Are  God  and  Nature  then  at  strife, 

That  Nature  lends  such  evil  dreams  ? 
So  careful  of  the  type  she  seems, 
So  careless  of  the  single  life."  2 

It  is  a  mystery  to  him.  He  cannot  solve  it.  He 
can  only  grope  in  the  dark,  holding  by  the  clue  of 
faith,  and  trusting  in  the  larger  hope  that  some- 
how all  shall  be  for  the  best.  His  own  fine  words 
in  which  he  has  so  deeply  and  beautifully  expressed 

1  In  Memoriam,  liii.  4.  2  Ibid.  Iv.  2. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    253 

his    intellectual  weakness  and  his  spiritual  trust 
will  bear  repetition :  — 

"  I  falter  where  I  firmly  trod, 

And  falling  with  my  weight  of  cares 
Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs 
That  slope  through  darkness  up  to  God, 

"  I  stretch  lame  hands  of  faith,  and  grope, 
And  gather  dust  and  chaff,  and  call 
To  what  I  feel  is  Lord  of  all, 
And  faintly  trust  the  larger  hope."  l 

2.  In  the  mean  time  science  suddenly  rent  the 
veil  that  had  been  concealing  some  of  nature's  laws, 
and  revealed  other  mysteries  that  increased  the 
poet's  difficulties.  In  1845  Charles  Darwin  called 
attention  to  the  fact  that  Nature  was  not  careful 
even  of  the  type,  that  there  were  vast  chasms  of 
silence  in  her  records,  that  the  species  as  well  as 
the  individual  was  not  infrequently  obliterated. 
And  Tennyson  read  these  words  :  "  To  admit  that 
species  generally  become  rare  before  they  become 
extinct,  to  find  no  surprise  at  the  comparative 
rarity  of  one  species  with  another,  and  yet  to  call 
in  some  extraordinary  agent  and  to  marvel  greatly 
when  a  species  ceases  to  exist,  appears  to  me  much 
the  same  as  to  admit  that  sickness  in  the  individual 
is  the  prelude  to  death ;  to  feel  no  surprise  at  sick- 
ness, but  when  the  sick  man  dies,  to  wonder  and 
to  believe  that  he  died  through  violence."  2  In  a 
later  book  the  great  naturalist  thus  more  succinctly 
formulated  his  conclusions :  "  We  have  every  reason 

1  In  Memoriam,  Iv.  4,  5. 

2  Journal  of  Researches,  London,  1845,  p.  176. 


254    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

to  believe  from  the  study  of  the  tertiary  formations, 
that  species  and  groups  of  species  gradually  dis- 
appear, one  after  another,  from  first  one  spot,  then 
from  another,  and  finally  from  the  world."  l  Ten- 
nyson's keen  vision  takes  in  the  whole  bearing  of 
Darwin's  first  announcement ;  still  less  does  he  find 
Nature's  course  to  tally  with  man's  instinctive  trust 
that  no  life  may  fail  beyond  the  grave,  and  he 
resumes  the  subject  in  another  lyric,  in  which  he 
expresses  Darwin's  conclusion  with  grasp  and  force 
not  excelled  by  the  scientist's  own  form :  — 

"  '  So  careful  of  the  type  ? '  but  no. 

From  scarped  cliff  and  quarried  stone 
She  cries,  '  A  thousand  types  are  gone : 
I  care  for  nothing,  all  shall  go.'  "  2 

It  would  indeed  seem,  in  the  light  of  this  new  dis- 
covery, as  though  Nature  were  confirming  the  ma- 
terialist's doctrine  that  "  the  spirit  does  but  mean 
the  breath."  The  poet  asks  with  alarm,  shall  this 
be  the  end  of  man,  with  all  his  noble  aspirations, 
and  elevated  ideals,  and  great  achievements,  that 
he  shall 

"  be  blown  about  the  desert  dust, 
Or  sealed  within  the  iron  hills  ? 

"No  more  ?  A  monster  then,  a  dream, 
A  discord.     Dragons  of  the  prime, 
That  tare  each  other  in  their  slime, 
Were  mellow  music  matched  with  him."  8 

Terrified  and  perplexed  by  these  revelations  and 
analogies  of  modern  science,  he  despairs  of  solving 

1  Genesis  of  the  Species,  1859,  p.  318. 

2  In  Memoriam,  Ivi.  1.  8  Ibid.  Ivi.  5,  6. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    255 

the  overwhelming  enigma  in  this  life,  and  seeks 
refuge  in  the  other :  — 

"  What  hope  of  answer,  or  redress  ? 
Behind  the  veil,  behind  the  veil."1 

He  would  have  man,  against  evidence  to  the  con- 
trary, in  the  midst  of  doubt  and  darkness,  hold  by 
the  clue  of  a  future  life  in  which  all  mystery  shall 
be  made  clear. 

3.  Elsewhere,  and  at  a  later  date,  Tennyson  dwelt 
more  forcibly  upon  the  barrenness  of  life  without 
these  fundamental  truths.  In  his  poem  called  "  De- 
spair "  he  has  grandly  shown  how  in  any  view  of  the 
world  that  destroys  belief  in  a  moral  government, 
in  a  hereafter,  and  in  a  personal  God,  the  light  from 
the  stars  shines  forth  a  lie,  "  bright  as  with  death- 
less hope ;  "  man  a  worm  writhing  in  a  world  of 
the  weak  trodden .  down  by  the  strong ;  darkness 
everywhere  —  "  Doubt  lord  of  this  dung-hill, 
Hope  with  broken  heart  running  after  a  shadow  of 
good,"  and  Love  dead  —  rather,  a  delusion  that  had 
never  existed.  In  still  another  poem  he  depicts 
the  overwhelming  vastness  of  the  universe  from 
the  materialist's  point  of  view,  and  shows  how  that 
awful  sense  of  inert  immensity  can  alone  be  counter- 
acted in  the  soul's  life  and  aspirations  :  — 

"  Many  a  hearth  upon  our  dark  globe  sighs  after  many  a  vanished 

face, 
Many  a  planet  by  many  a  sun  may  roll  with  the  dust  of  a  vanished 

race. 

"  Raving  politics,  never  at  rest  —  as  this  poor  earth's  pale  history 

runs, — 
What  is  it  all  but  a  trouble  of  ants  in  the  gleam  of  a  million  mil- 

lion  of  suns  ?  .  .  . 

1  In  Memoriam,  Ivi.  7. 


256    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

"  What  is  it  all,  if  we  all  of  us  end  but  in  being  our  own  corpse- 
coffins  at  last, 

Swallowed  in  Vastness,  lost  in  Silence,  drowned  in  the  deeps  of  a 
meaningless  Past  ? 

"  What  but  a  murmur  of  gnats  in  the  gloom,  or  a  moment's  anger 

of  bees  in  their  hive  ?  — 
Peace,  let  it  be  I  far  I  loved  him,  and  love  him  forever :  the  dead 

are  not  dead  but  alive."  l 

Was  ever  the  sense  of  oppressiveness  arising  from 
contemplation  of  the  vastness  of  the  universe  more 
powerfully  expressed  ?  Were  man  a  mere  spawn 
of  matter  —  a  mere  development  of  protoplasm  — 
born  for  time  and  ending  with  time,  that  vastness 
and  that  oppressiveness  would  be  overpowering. 
But  with  a  profound  sense  of  his  greater  majesty 
as  a  spiritual  being,  and  conscious  of  his  capacity 
for  undying  love,  —  for  is  not  love  stronger  than 
death?  —  this  undying  love  represented  by  the  au- 
thor's love  for  Arthur,  —  man  in  that  consciousness 
raises  himself  above  and  beyond  the  whole  length 
and  breadth  and  height  and  depth  of  this  material 
universe  ;  its  vastness  shrinks  into  insignificance 
by  the  side  of  a  single  spiritual  act  of  an  immor- 
tal soul.  Man  loves  ;  his  love,  when  pure,  above 
all  when  supernatural,  grows  and  strengthens  with 
his  years,  and  he  cherishes  it  because  it  is  to  out- 
live all  conditions  of  time  and  place. 

"  Peace,  let  it  be !  " —  even  so  in  the  "  In  Memo- 
riam  "  does  the  poet  turn  aside  from  the  nightmare 
horrors  of  Nature,  shrieking  against  his  belief  in 
another  and  a  better  world :  — 

1  Vastness. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    257 

"  Peace ;  come  away :  the  song-  of  woe 
Is  after  all  an  earthly  song- : 
Peace ;  come  away :  we  do  him  wrong 
To  sing-  so  wildly  :  let  us  go."  x 

4.  In  another  lyric  Tennyson  contemplates  this 
earth  in  its  evolution  from  "  tracts  of  fluent  heat  " 
till  it  has  assumed  its  present  form,  and  "  at  the 
last  arose  the  man,"  and  he  watches  the  course  of 
human  progress  through  joy  and  sorrow,  man  him- 
self being  in  his  view  only  "  the  herald  of  a  higher 
race;"  but  he  cautions  us  not  to  lose  our  hold 
upon  the  clue  of  immortality,  — 

"  Nor  dream  of  human  love  and  truth, 
As  dying  Nature's  earth  and  lime. 

"  But  trust  that  those  we  call  the  dead 
Are  breathers  of  an  ampler  day 
For  ever  nobler  ends."  2 

And  he  would  have  all  men  drive  out  of  themselves 
the  beasts  of  passion  and  raise  themselves  to  higher 
things :  — 

"Arise  and  fly 

The  reeling  Faun,  the  sensual  feast ; 
Move  upward,  working  out  the  beast, 
And  let  the  ape  and  tiger  die.8 


XII. 

1.  Here  ends  the  struggle.     The  poet  can  now 
look  back  on  it  all  and  say :  — 

"  I  trust  I  have  not  wasted  breath : 
/  think  we  are  not  wholly  brain, 

1  In  Memoriam,  Ivii.  1.  2  Ibid,  cxviii.  1,  2. 

8  Ibid,  cxviii.  7. 


258    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Magnetic  mockeries ;  not  in  vain, 
Like  Paul  with  beasts,  I  fought  with  Death  ; 

"  Not  only  cunning  casts  in  clay  : 

Let  Science  prove  we  are,  and  then 
What  matters  Science  unto  men, 
At  least  to  me  ?  I  would  not  stay. 

"  Let  him,  the  wiser  man  who  springs 
Hereafter,  up  from  childhood  shape 
His  action  like  the  greater  ape, 
But  I  was  born  to  other  things"  l 

2.  This  singer  of  Christian  hope  would  not  stay 
with  the  science  that  speaks  in  the  name  of  ma- 
terialism. Evolution  —  progress  spiritual,  intel- 
lectual, material  —  he  can  understand,  but  he  will 
none  of  materialism.  He  is  unwearied  in  reitera- 
tion of  this  truth.  Science  reveals  change  in  the 
earth's  crust :  — 

"  There  rolls  the  deep  where  grew  the  tree. 
0  earth,  what  changes  hast  thou  seen ! 
There  where  the  long  street  roars,  hath  been 
The  stillness  of  the  central  sea."  2 

"  But,"  paraphrasing  in  the  words  of  one  who  made 
a  loving  study  of  the  poem,  "  there  is  one  thing 
fixed  and  abiding — that  which  we  call  spirit ;  and, 
amid  all  uncertainty,  one  truth  is  certain  —  that  to 
a  loving  human  soul  a  parting  which  shall  be  eter- 
nal is  unthinkable."  3  And  equally  fixed  in  human 
consciousness  is  the  conviction  that  there  is  a  loving 
God.  This  is  proven,  in  the  argument  of  the  poem, 
not  by  the  things  of  Nature,  though  the  material 

1  In  Memoriam,  cxx.  1,  2,  3.  2  Ibid,  cxxiii.  1. 

8  E.  R.  Chapman.  A  Companion  to  In  Memoriam,  p.  07. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    259 

universe  suffices  to  prove  it,  but  rather  by  the  uni- 
versal yearning  of  the  human  heart.  On  this  point 
both  Tennyson  and  Cardinal  Newman  struck  the 
same  chord.  In  prose  no  less  noble  than  the  po- 
etry of  Tennyson  the  Cardinal  says :  "  The  world 
seems  simply  to  give  the  lie  to  that  great  truth, 
of  which  my  whole  being  is  so  full ;  and  the  effect 
upon  me  is  in  consequence,  as  a  matter  of  neces- 
sity, as  confusing  as  if  it  denied  that  I  am  in  ex- 
istence myself.  .  .  .  Were  it  not  for  this  voice 
speaking  so  clearly  to  my  conscience  and  my  heart, 
I  should  be  an  atheist,  or  a  pantheist,  or  a  poly- 
theist  when  I  looked  into  the  world.  I  am  speak- 
ing for  myself  only  ;  and  I  am  far  from  denying 
the  real  force  of  the  arguments  in  proof  of  a  God, 
drawn  from  the  general  facts  of  human  society,  but 
they  do  not  warm  me  or  enlighten  me  ;  they  do  not 
take  away  the  winter  of  my  desolation,  or  make 
the  buds  unfold  and  the  leaves  grow  within  me, 
and  my  moral  being  rejoice."  l 

3.  Strengthened  and  inspired  by  the  virtues  of 
faith  and  hope  and  love,  the  poet  —  and  with  him 
humanity  —  rises  triumphant  over  all  difficulties, 
and  looking  back  upon  the  strife  he  can  now 
sing :  — 

"  And  all  is  well,  though  faith  and  form 
Be  sundered  in  the  night  of  fear ; 
Well  roars  the  storm  to  those  that  hear 
A  deeper  voice  across  the  storm."  2 

When  the  virtues  he  would  sing  are  not  merely 
natural  virtues,  but  possess  the  supernatural  char- 

1  Apologia,  p.  267.  2  In  Memoriam,  cxxvii.  1. 


260    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

acter  of  the  theological  virtues,  the  soul's  triumph 
is  indeed  complete.  And  the  dead  who  have  passed 
through  the  strife  and  have  come  out  of  it  vic- 
torious overlook  the  tumult  from  afar,  and  smile, 
"  knowing  all  is  well."  For  Tennyson  considers 
faith  in  human  progress,  in  spite  of  all  apparent 
evidence  to  the  contrary,  as  akin  to  divine  faith ; 
and  he  still  sees,  however  darkly,  that  all  things 
work  towards  a  good  end  :  — 

"  I  see  in  part 

That  all,  as  in  some  piece  of  art, 
Is  toil  cob'perant  to  an  end."  l 

4.  The  author  leaves  out  in  his  calculation  the 
one  element  that  explains  the  anomalous  state  of 
things,  the  retrogressions  of  races,  otherwise  than 
as  mere  eddies  of  time  :  — 

"  No  doubt  vast  eddies  in  the  flood 
Of  onward  time  shall  yet  be  made, 
And  throned  races  may  degrade  :  ' ' 

but  that  element,  that  great  factor  in  humanity, 
Cardinal  Newman  has  supplied.  He  says :  "  And 
so  I  argue  about  the  world :  if  there  be  a  God, 
since  there  is  a  God,  the  human  race  is  implicated 
in  some  terrible  aboriginal  calamity.  It  is  out  of 
joint  with  the  purposes  of  its  Creator.  This  is  a 
fact  —  a  fact  as  true  as  the  fact  of  its  existence ; 
and  thus  the  doctrine  of  what  is  theologically  called 
original  sin  becomes  to  me  almost  as  certain  as 
that  the  world  exists,  and  as  the  existence  of  God."  2 
Had  the  poet  reckoned  with  this  element  he  would 
have  caught  a  clearer  glimpse  of  the  infinite  love 

1  In  Memoriam,  cxxviii.  6.  2  Apologia,  p.  268. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    261 

of  God  for  man,  his  paean  of  victory  would  have 
been  none  the  less  jubilant,  and  his  sense  of  depen- 
dence would  have  been  all  the  more  profound. 

5.  But  what  can  excel  the  clarion  note  in  which 
Tennyson  in  this  last  group  asserts  the  commun- 
ion of  the  living  and  the  dead  ?  Alluding  to  his 
trance,  he  sings  that  if  Arthur  was  with  him  then, 
none  the  less  can  this  friend  be  with  him  when- 
ever the  great  desire  to  commune  with  the  departed 
spirit  grows  upon  him  :  — 

"  If  thou  wert  with  me,  and  the  grave 
Divide  us  not,  be  with  me  now, 
And  enter  in  at  breast  and  brow, 
Till  all  my  blood,  a  fuller  wave, 

"  Be  quickened  with  a  livelier  breath, 
And  like  an  inconsiderate  boy, 
As  in  the  former  flash  of  joy, 
I  slip  the  thoughts  of  life  and  death ; 

"  And  all  the  breeze  of  Fancy  blows, 
And  every  dewdrop  paints  a  bow, 
The  wizard  lightnings  deeply  glow, 
And  every  thought  breaks  out  a  rose." 1 

In  his  final  song  every  trace  of  doubt  has  vanished. 
The  feeling  of  an  immortal  existence  has  become 
part  of  his  thinking.  His  friend  that  was,  is  and 
shall  be  his  beyond  all  power  of  separation :  — 

"  Sweet  human  hand  and  lips  and  eye ; 

Dear  heavenly  friend  that  canst  not  die, 
Mine,  mine,  for  ever,  ever  mine." 

And  therefore  the  image  of  his  friend  is  mingled 
everywhere :  — 

1  In  Memoriam,  cxxii.  3,  4,  5. 


262    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

"  Behold,  I  dream  a  dream  of  good, 
And  mingle  all  the  world  with  thee."  1 

6.  That  there  is  between  the  dead  and  the  living 
something  in  common,  that  they  are  intimately 
united,  that  there  exists  an  unseen  and  an  unspeak- 
able communion  between  them,  is  a  conviction 
borne  in  upon  the  author  with  a  force  beyond  all 
resistance.  Is  this  truth  not  also  the  common 
heritage  of  humanity  ?  He  addresses  Arthur  :  — 

"  Far  off  thou  art,  hut  ever  nigh  ; 
I  have  thee  still,  and  I  rejoice ; 
I  prosper,  circled  with  thy  voice  ; 
I  shall  not  lose  thee  though  I  die."  2 

But  all  this  triumph  of  faith  and  hope  and  love 
over  doubt  and  materialism  is  not  of  man's  own 
merit.  He  should  will  it ;  he  should  pray  for  the 
grace  of  it ;  he  should  place  himself  in  the  hands 
of  the  Supreme  Will,  the  guide  and  strength-giver 
of  all  finite  wills.  And  so  Tennyson  addresses 
the  Divine  Will :  — 

"  O  Living  Will  that  shalt  endure 

When  all  that  seems  shall  suffer  shock, 
Rise  in  the  spiritual  rock, 
Flow  through  our  deeds  and  make  them  pure."8 

He  asks  that  our  deeds  may  be  made  pure  in  order 
that  we  may  all  the  more  readily  rise  to  faith  in  the 
truths  that  we  cannot  prove,  or  in  his  own  apt 
words :  — 

"And  trust, 

With  faith  that  comes  of  self-control, 
The  truths  that  never  can  be  proved 

1  In  Memoriam,  cxxix.  3.  2  Ibid.  czxz.  3. 

8  Ibid,  cxxxi.  1. 


SPIRITUAL  SENSE  OF  IN  MEMORIAM    263 

Until  we  close  -with  all  we  loved, 
And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul."  x 

Faith,  though  based  upon  knowledge,  springs  not 
from  knowledge  alone.  It  is  not  commensurate 
with  science.  It  is  a  gratuitous  and  a  gracious  gift 
of  God,  and  not  infrequently  descendeth  where  it 
is  least  expected. 

7.  The  song  that  was  begun  as  a  dirge  over  the 
dead  ends  in  a  marriage-lay.     Now  that  the  poet 
has  found  life  worth  living,  he  sings  the  marriage 
of  a  dear  sister  with  another  bosom  friend,  as  a 
pledge  and  a  hope  of   a  future   generation  that 
shall  approach  nearer  to,  and  hasten  the  reign  of 
the  universal  good  that  he  descries  in  the  far-off 
future,  where  abide  :  — 

"  One  God,  one  law,  one  element, 
And  one  far-off  divine  event, 
To  which  the  whole  creation  moves."  2 

8.  Finally,  as  Petrarca  ends  his  lyrics  and  son- 
nets upon  Laura  with  a  beautiful  prayer  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  as  Goethe  finds  in  woman  through 
the  same  immaculate  Mother  redemption  from  the 
ills  of  life,  so  does  Tennyson  conclude  the  work 
of  his  poem  of  sorrow,  and  struggle,  and  triumph 
over   the  powers   of   darkness  infesting  the   age, 
with  a  magnificent  hymn  to  Him  who  is  Light  and 
Love  and  Life :  — 

' '  Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 

Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace, 
Believing  where  we  cannot  prove.' '  8 

1  In  Memoriam,  cxxxi.  3.  2  Epithalamium,  36. 

8  Prelude,  1. 


264   PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

Thus,  the  final  note  of  Tennyson's  song,  which  he 
makes  the  prelude  of  his  poem,  terminates  where 
the  final  note  of  Dante's  song  terminates,  in  that 
Love  which  moves  the  world,  the  sun  and  all  the 
other  stars.1 

XIII. 

"  In  Memoriam,"  viewed  from  the  ground  upon 
which  we  now  stand,  is  a  highly  finished  expression 
of  the  heart-hunger  of  a  soul  groping  after  the  ful- 
fillment of  its  desires  and  aspirations,  searching  into 
science  and  art,  and  challenging  heaven  and  earth 
to  yield  up  the  secret  of  happiness  and  content- 
ment, and  in  the  primitive  instincts  of  human  na- 
ture together  with  the  essential  truths  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion  —  in  these  alone  interpreted  in  the 
light  of  faith — discovering  the  meaning  of  life  and 
answers  to  the  questionings  of  doubt  and  mate- 
rialism. In  this  fact  lies  the  claim  of  the  poem  to 
rank  with  "  Faust"  and  the  "  Divina  Commedia," 
not  indeed  in  degree  of  greatness  and  fullness  of 
expression,  but  in  kind.  "  In  Memoriam  "  is  also 
a  world-poem. 

1  Paradiso,  xxxiii.  131. 


CHAPTER  XL 

CONCLUSION. 

1.  IN  the  previous   pages  we  have  sought   the 
ideal  in  thought  and  applied  the  principles  of  crit- 
icism which  we  regard  as  most  fruitful  in  word 
and  work.      Had  the  writer  known  a  more  elevat- 
ing doctrine  he  would  have  imparted  it  cheerfully, 
were  the  expression  of  it  ever  so  inadequate.     The 
mere  negations  of  criticism  are  barren  of  results ; 
the  mere  clash   and   clamor   of   controversy  only 
too  frequently  end  in  personal  animosities  and  the 
strengthening  of  prejudice.      Meanwhile   thought 
is  starving  and  paralyzed  for  want  of  the  warmth 
of  life  and  the  nourishment  of  life-giving  food  in 
men's  teachings.     Keen  and  bright  intellects,  hun- 
gering and  thirsting,  grope  in  cold  and  darkness 
after  spiritual   meat   and   drink  with  a  yearning 
and  an  earnestness  that  are  rarely  witnessed  in  the 
history  of  human  thought. 

2.  Beneath   the  rationalism  and  agnosticism  of 
the  day  there  is  a  strong  religious  feeling  crying  out 
for  light  and  life  and  warmth.     Witness  the  neo- 
Christian  movement  in  France.     It  is  a  reaction 
against  the  barrenness  of  materialism  in  philosophy 
and  the  rottenness  of  realism  in  literature.     It  is 
a  school  of  choice  spirits  who  refuse  to  subscribe  to 


266    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

the  doctrine  that  there  is  no  unseen  world,  and  who 
would  converge  their  best  thoughts  upon  the  soul 
and  its  destiny.  These  writers  hold  by  the  reality 
of  spiritual  life.  They  crave  nourishment  for  that 
life.  Faith  in  that  life  and  religious  truth  and 
moral  right  they  regard  as  integral  portions  of 
human  activity.  With  Kenan  they  hold  a  man's 
worth  to  be  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  reli- 
gious sentiment  he  has  preserved  from  his  early 
training,  that  religious  sentiment  giving  fragrance 
to  his  whole  life.1  Religion  is  from  their  point  of 
view  as  great  a  need  for  the  intellect  as  philosophy. 
They  do  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  their  conception 
of  religion,  but  they  have  no  doubt  whatever  con- 
cerning its  beauty  and  goodness.  "Faith,"  says 
M.  Edouard  Rod,  "  has  an  answer  for  every  curi- 
ous question ;  it  explains  all.  "  It  gives  the  reason 
for  our  existence,  since  it  proves  to  us  that  we  are 
the  centre  of  the  world ;  it  lends  us  the  courage  to 
support  our  sufferings,  since  it  teaches  us  that  they 
are  a  preparation  for  a  better  destiny ;  it  imparts  a 
relish  for  life,  since  it  convinces  us  that  life  is  eter- 
nity. By  plunging  into  mystery  it  has  caused  all 
fear  thereof  to  vanish ;  its  affirmations  have  ban- 
ished doubt,  and  in  the  triumph  of  its  certitude  it 
has  established  a  marvelously  constructed  system 
upon  an  imaginary  basis,  which,  designed  as  it  is 
to  meet  every  intellectual  want,  leaves  no  room  for 
despair."  2 

1  Feuilles  Dftachfes,  pref.  p.  xvii. 

2  Le  Sens  de  la  Vie,  p.  26. 


CONCLUSION  267 

3.  So  speaks  one  of  the  apostles  of  the  neo-Chris- 
tian  movement.     He  talks  of  faith ;  but  faith  in 
what?  —  there's  the  rub.     The  new  creed  speaks 
respectfully  of  religion,  but  it  accepts  no  dogma ;  it 
assumes  the  Christian  code  of  morality  without  the 
Christian  sanction  and  the  fundamental  religious 
truths  upon  which  both  code  and  sanction  are  based. 
It  is  merely  a  vague  sentiment.     Christian  morality 
without   the  Christian  religion  is  an  abstraction  ; 
religion  without  dogma  is  a  chimera  of  the  brain. 
In   attempting   to   appropriate   from   Christianity 
its  beautiful  morality,  its  consoling  faith,  its  all- 
embracing  mysteries,  without  the  doctrine  and  the 
dogma  of  Christianity,  the  neo-Christian  disciples 
are  plucking  flower  and  leaf,  leaving  behind  the 
root  and  stem  through  which  life-giving  nourish- 
ment flows.     As  well  expect  the  plucked  flower  to 
ripen  into  fruit  as  this  admiration  for  Christianity 
to  be  productive  of  spiritual  life  and  growth  or  to 
end  in  the  robust  activity  that  is  a  mark  of  every 
genuine  Christian  institution. 

4.  Nothing  can  supersede  the  Catholic  Church 
as   a   great   social    and    intellectual    force  —  the 
Church  of  Clement  and  Augustin  and  Aquinas,  the 
Church  that  inspired  Dante  and  a  Kempis  —  with 
its  unchanging  dogma,  its  harmoniously  developed 
doctrine,  its  significant  ritual  and  ceremonial ;  with 
its    priesthood,   its    sacraments,   its    hymns    and 
prayers ;   its  all  -  embracing  charity  embodied   in1 
the   various    institutions    established    throughout 
the  world  for  the  healing  of  human  misery  and 


268    PHASES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  CRITICISM 

the  well-being  of  society.  This  is  the  substance 
of  which  the  neo  -  Christian  movement  is  but  the 
shadow.  Herein  do  flower  and  fruit,  root  and 
stem,  all  receive  life  and  nourishment  from  the 
Word  in  whom  they  are  planted. 


INDEX. 


ADRIAN  DE  Bur,  94. 
-flSsop,  32. 

^Esthetic  Sense,  2,  56. 
Agnosticism,  72-75. 

and  Christianity,  77. 
Alberic,  vision  of,  148. 
Albert  of  Saxony,  90. 
Albertus  Magnus,  130. 
Allegory,  148. 
Ancient  Sage,  The,  224. 
Angelo,  Michael,  54. 
Aquinas,  St.  Thomas,  on  thought,  25. 

and  scholastic  philosophy,  89. 

and  The  Imitation,  99,  107. 

and  Dante,  131,  156. 

on  the  resurrection,  243. 
Areopagite,    writings    attributed    to 

Denis  the,  101. 
Aristotle  and  The  Imitation,  99. 

and  Dante,  131. 
Arnold,  Thomas,  197. 
Art,  its  meaning,  67. 
Artist,  the,  63. 
Augustin,  St.,  on  thought,  24. 

on  time,  50. 

on  the  end  of  man,  77. 

on  The  Word,  107. 

soars  above  systems,  109. 

on  neo-Platonism,  247. 

ecstasy  of,  226. 

Bacon,  Roger,  130. 
Balbo,  on  Dante  (note),  147. 
Bayne,  Peter,  235. 
Beatrice,  137. 

and  Dante,  143,  144,  169,  170, 

Beda  and  Thomas  a  Kempis,  93. 
Beethoven,  54. 
Begards,  91. 
*  Beguines,  91. 
Benedict,  St.,  105. 
Bernard,  St.,  98,  174,  176,  177. 
his  prayer  to  Mary,  177. 
Berthier,  on  Dante  (note),  182. 
Bion,  189. 

Blanc,  Charles,  on  the  ideal,  58,  59. 
Boniface  VIII.  (note),  130. 
Boccaccio,  99, 131. 


Bonaventura,  St.,  99,  228. 
Bonaventura  and  Dante,  131. 
Books,  when  they  avail,  32. 
Borromeo,  St.  Charles,  88. 
Bossuet,  88. 

Brethren  of  the  Common  Life,  92,  93. 
Browning,  his  admirers,  8. 

on  art,  66. 

his  conception  of  progress,  205. 

his  treatment  of  Lazarus,  213. 

his  conclusion  one  with  Tenny- 
son's, 214. 

on  future  states  of  the  soul,  244. 
Buddha,  244. 
Buridan,  Jean,  90. 

Cabala,  the,  206,  227,  245. 

Cantu,  Caesar,  on  Dante,  142. 

Catholicity  and  doubt,  228,  229. 

Callicles,  41. 

Can  Grande,  140. 

Carlyle,  on  the  Paradiso,  180. 

and  transcendentalism,  197. 
Cathedral,  gothic,  64,  89. 
Cato,  163. 
Chapman,  34. 

Chateaubriand  on  reverie,  37. 
Chenoweth,  Mrs.  (note),  225. 
Chorus-poems,  191. 
Church,  Dean,  on  Dante,  146. 
Christianity  and  agnosticism,  77. 
Christopher,  St.,  114. 
Clement  of  Alexandria,  107,  267. 
Clifford,  Professor,  73. 
Cobden,  198. 
Communion  of  Saints,  250. 

with  the  dead,  250. 
Consciousness,  growth  of,  248. 
Cousin  on  Maine  de  Biran,  82. 
Criticism,  true,  9. 
Crusades,  the,  89. 
Cyril,  St.,  246. 

Dante,  the  life  -  incidents  that  con- 
tributed to  the  making  of  his 
poem,  126,  127,  138,  139. 
a  Catholic,  128. 
and  chivalry,  129. 
and  pilgrimages,  129, 130. 


270 


INDEX 


Dante  as  a  student,  130. 

as  a  theologian  (note),  131. 

a  pagan  leaven  in  (note),  134. 

his  character,  140,  141. 

his  sufferings,  141. 

rises  above  party,  142. 

and  the  Blessed  Virgin,  144. 

his  love  for  religion,  145. 

his  diction,  149. 

his  earnestness,  150. 

his  ideal  of  womanhood,  174. 
Dante,  54,  64,  99,  227. 
Darwin,  198. 
Darwin,  Charles,  253. 
Davidson,  Thomas,  217. 
Death-bed  scene,  84,  85. 
Demetriada,  245. 
Descartes,  43. 
Despair,  255. 
Devotion,  new,  93. 
Divina  Commedia,  the,  64, 125. 

world-poem  of  the  middle  ages, 

a  song  of  joy  and  hope,  151. 

practical,  152. 

its  central  idea,  152. 

the  element  of  love  in,  153-155. 

its  allegorical  sense,  160-179. 

a  transcript  of   religious   life, 

189. 

Doubt,  228,  261. 
Draper,  on  The  Imitation,  117. 
Dream,  allegorical,  231. 
Duns  Scotus,  130. 

Easter  Day,  239. 

Eckhart,  his  mysticism,  90,  91. 

his  influence,  91. 

Education,  given  for  a  purpose,  10. 
Eliot,  George,  on  The  Imitation,  121, 

122. 
Emerson,  a  type  of  thinker,  13-16. 

the  outcome  of  his  philosophy, 

his  limitations,  15. 
Essays  and  Reviews,  197. 
Essence,  divine,  truth  in,  26. 
Essenes,  the,  244,  246. 
Ethical  difficulties,  251. 
Eucharist,  the,  centre  of  spiritual  life, 

116,  117. 

Evelyn  Hope,  244. 
Evolution  of  the  earth,  257. 
Experiences,  transmitted,  32. 

Fable  of  the  Bees,  202. 
Fables,  tradition  of,  32. 
Faith,  a  gratuitous  gift,  263. 
Faust,  spirit  of,  135. 

meaning  of,  136. 

lesson  of,  136,  207. 

womanly  love  in,  137. 

world-poem  of  the  nineteenth 

century,  138,  251. 
Florio,  34. 
Fontenelle,  on  The  Imitation,  88. 


Francis  of  Assisi,  St.,  98, 101.  228. 

Free  will,  150,  201. 

Friends  of  God,  society  of,  91. 

Galahad,  102,  107. 

Gioberti,  on  Dante,  148. 

Goethe  as  literary  artist,  42,  43,  65. 

as  poet  and  philosopher,  147. 

his  ideal  of  womanhood,  174. 

and  Tennyson,  251. 

and  the  Blessed  Virgin,  263. 
Gospels,  book  of,  86,  87. 
Gower,  34. 

Grail,  Holy,  the,  99,  102,  107. 
Greece  among  our  educators,  30. 
Gregory  the  Great,  St.,  98. 
Grief,  fluctuations    of,  in  In  Memo- 

riam,  220. 
Groote,  Gerhard,  92. 

Hallam,  Arthur  (note),  183, 197. 

introduces  Shelley's  Adonais  to 

Cambridge,  188. 

Harrison,  Frederic,  on  the  Evolution- 
ists (note),  30. 
Haydn,  54. 
Hegel,  8. 

Hellwald,  F.  von,  on  error,  53,  54. 
Hengist,  7. 

Herbert  of  Cherbury,  185. 
Heredity,  30. 
Hermann,  Brother,  94. 
Hettinger,  on  Dante  (note),  147. 

on  the  Divina  Commedia,  160. 
Hilary,  Brother,  140. 
Holinshed,  34. 
Homer,  12,  34. 
Horsa,  7. 

Houghton,  Lord,  188. 
Hugo,  Victor,  36. 
Huss,  John  (note),  108. 
Human  reason,  not  always  sufficient 
to  conquer  passion,  162. 

Ibsen,  14. 

Identity,  doctrine  of,  248. 

Illative  sense,  2. 

Imitation  of  Christ,  The,  88. 

rhythmical  (note),  94. 

sources  of,  98,  99. 

key-note  of,  102. 

lessons  for  students,  103. 

its  philosophy,  107,  109,  112. 

secret  of  its  success,  119,  123. 
In    Memoriam,    explained   and   ana- 
lyzed, 192-197. 

its  composition,  184. 

its  structure,  185. 

its  subject-matter,  186-192. 

characterized,  191. 

grief  in,  analyzed,  207-215. 

the  more  helpful  notes  of,  215. 

dream  and  sleep  lyrics  of,  216- 
219. 

lyrics    dealing   with    a   future 
state,  240-248. 


INDEX 


271 


In  Memoriam,  one  of  the  world-po- 
ems, 264. 
canons  of    interpretation,   234, 

235. 

Innocent  III.,  126. 
Intellect,  human,  its  function,  45. 
and  truth,  46. 
and  certainty,  47. 
Introspection  in  thought,  38. 

Jerome,  St.,  245. 

Johnson,  Doctor  Samuel,  88. 

John,  St.,  108. 

Kempis,  Thomas  a,  88. 

his  times,  89. 

held  in  esteem  by  his  communi- 
ty, 94. 

described  by  contemporaries,  95, 
96. 

his  inner  life,  96,  97. 

transcribes  the  Bible,  98. 

no  avowed  system  of  philoso- 
phy, 110. 

and  learning,  110-112. 

on  love,  113,  114. 

a  practical  man,  115. 
Knowledge,  well-digested,  11. 
KorSn,  the,  120. 

La  Bruyere*  on  originality,  33. 

Lafontaine,  32. 

La  Harpe,  120. 

Lancelot,  107. 

Laura,  185,  263. 

Lay,  marriage,  263. 

Lazarus,   treatment  of,  by  Tennyson 

and  Browning,  212,  213. 
Lecky,  quoted  (note),  117. 
Leipzig,  University  of,  108. 
Leo  XIII.,  on  reason  and  revelation, 

82. 

Letter  of  Tennyson,  223. 
Little  Catechism,  158. 
Louis  IX.,  126. 
Louis  XVI.,  120. 

Loyola,  St.  Ignatius,  101,  105,  115. 
Love  in  the  Divina  Gommedia,  153- 

159. 

in  In  Memoriam,  236. 
Lucy,  or  Illuminative  Grace,  161. 
Lushington,  E.  L.,  221. 
Lycidas,  189. 

Mandeville,  Bernard  de,  202. 
Man,  his  end,  158. 

Maine  de  Biran,  on  religion  and  phi- 
losophy, 82. 

on  the  inner  life  of  man,  104. 
Malebranche,  82. 
Marsilius  Ficino,  206. 
Marsilius  of  Inghen,  90. 
Mater  Gloriosa,  the,  137. 
Maurice,  F.  D.,  197,  202. 
Mediaeval  time  -  spirit,  evolution,   of, 
132, 133, 136. 


Methods,  literary  and  scientific,  44. 
Michelet,  on  Thomas  a  Kempis,  96. 
Mill,  8. 
Millet,  67,  69. 
Milton,  12. 

and  Shelley,  189. 
Miracle-Play,  89. 
Missal,  Roman,  99. 
Mivart,  St.  George,   on  the  intellect 

and  truth,  52. 
Montaigne,  34. 
Moral  Sense,  2,  71,  79. 
More,  Blessed  Thomas,  88. 
Moschus,  189. 
Mount,  Sermon  on,  87. 
Mozart,  64. 
Murillo,  54,  57. 
Mysticism,  90. 

described,  99-101. 

Nature,  scenery  of,  37. 
Nature,  problems  of,  252. 
Nature's  types,  30. 
Neo-Platonic  doctrine,  226,  249. 
Newman,  197. 
Newman,  as  a  thinker,  17-23. 

his  conversational  power,  18. 

his  appearance,  18. 

his  reasoning  power,  19,  20. 

his  idea  of  religion,  22. 

on  the  true  way  of  learning,  52, 
75. 

on  modesty  and  pride  (note), 
106. 

on  doubt,  229. 

on  the  existence  of  God,  259. 

on  original  sin,  260. 
Newton,  43. 
Ninias,  7. 
Nominalism  and  Realism,  90,  108. 

Ockham,  130. 

O'Connell,  Daniel,  198. 

Origen,  244. 

Original  sin,  doctrine  of,  260. 

Our  Father,  the,  87. 

Ovid,  99. 

Pascal,  soars  above  systems,  109. 
Pascal,  on  truth,  51. 
Paul,  vision  of,  148. 
Percivate,  106. 
Peter  of  Ailly,  90. 
Petrarca,  90,  185,  220. 

his  sonnets,  186. 
Phaedo,  the,  63. 
Phaedrus,  3'2. 
Philosophy,  scholastic,  89. 

and  poetry,  234. 
Plato,  allegory  of,  62. 
Plato,  on  essences,  50,  225. 

on  the  ideal,  58. 

on  literary  structure,  62. 

on  true  art,  66. 

on  man's  origin  and  destiny,  79. 

and  Dante,  131. 


272 


INDEX 


Plato,  as  poet  and  philosopher,  147. 

Plotinus,  226,  244. 

Popularity  no  criterion  of  truth,  28. 

Porphyry,  244. 

Prague,  University  of,  108. 

Preexistence,  doctrine  of,  241. 

Priestley,  on  the  resurrection,  240. 

Purgatorio,  the  lesson  of,  163. 

the  gate  of,  described,  165. 

the  meaning  of   the  allegory, 

167. 

Pythagoras,  105. 
Pythagorean  doctrine,  59. 

Quietism,  115. 

Rafael,  54,  57,  63. 

Ranke,  on  culture  hi  the  church,  82. 
Raymond  Lully,  130. 
Reading,  aimless,  36. 
Realism,  school  of,  66,  67,  265. 
Reason,  2,  3. 

Religion  in  the  Middle  Ages,  128. 
Religion,  revealed,  opponents  of,  28. 
Religious   life   a  nursery   for  learn- 
ing, 81. 
Remus,  7. 
Renan,  on  monastic  institutions,  81. 

on  religion,  266. 
Requiem,  the,  of  Mozart,  64. 
Reuchlin,  206. 
Reverie,  36. 

Richter,  on  literary  art,  44. 
Rod,  Edouard,  266. 
Rome  among  our  educators,  30. 
Romulus,  7. 
Rose,  the  mystical,  173. 
Rousseau,  Jean  Jacques,  88. 
Routine  thought,  7. 
Routine  in  politics,  9. 
Royce,  Josiah,  on  The  Imitation,  114. 
Raskin  and  art,  8,  67. 

Schopenhauer,  8. 

Semiramis,  7. 

Seneca,  99. 

Shakespeare,  54,  65,  147,  149. 

Shakespeare's  learning,  34. 

his  sonnets,  187,  188. 
Shelley,  his  admirers,  8. 

his  Adonais,  188,  189. 
Simpson,    Richard,  on   Shakespeare, 

188. 

Sins,  seven  capital,  168. 
Socrates,  41,  70,  105,  132. 
Somersby,  230. 
Sorrow,  233. 
Soul,  fourfold  activity  of,  1. 

its  faculties,  1-4. 

music  of,  71. 

the  general,  249. 
Spedding,  242. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  8,  73. 

and  the  noumenon,  47-49. 
Spiritual  act,  more  than  material  uni- 
verse, 256. 


Spiritual  sense,  3,  4,  71. 

culture  of,  79-81. 

and  spiritual  life,  80. 
Strauss,  197. 
Supernatural,  the,  75,  76,  78. 

and  the  natural,  78. 
Suso,  Heinrich,  91,  101. 
Systems  of  philosophy,  one-sided,  110. 

Tauler,  his  mysticism,  91,  101, 

his  influence,  91. 

Tennyson,  and  Arthur  Hallam  (note), 
183. 

and  Petrarch,  186,  263. 

and  Shelley,  190. 

and  Dante,  191,  264. 

and  his  age,  198. 

his  point  of  view,  198-206. 

and  Browning,  200,  205. 

and  Maurice,  202-204. 

his  conception  of  progress,  205, 
260. 

and  Goethe,  207,  263. 
Tennyson  quoted,  107. 

his  reverence  for  the  dead,  210. 

and  trance,  222-227. 

on  doubt,  228. 

and  Catholics,  237. 

and  scoffers  at  religion,  238, 
250. 

and  Darwin,  253,  25$. 

and  evolution,  258. 

and  Newman,  259. 
Theresa  of  Jesus,  101,  115,  225. 
Time-spirit,  mediaeval   and   modern, 

134. 
Thinking,  5. 

and  personality,  6. 

continuous,  35. 
Thoreau,  on  thought,  11. 
Thought,  principle  of,  25. 

St.  Augustin  on,  24. 

ideal  in,  56-59. 
Tituriel,  102. 
Tolstoi',  14. 

Tommaseo,  Nicolo,  on  religion.  128. 
Trance,  223. 

Transfiguration,  the,  63. 
Truth,  why  it  suffers,  27. 

and  error,  29. 
Turner,  8. 
Tyndall,  on  brain-polarization  (note), 

Ullmann,  on  a  Kempis  (note),  111. 

more  just  than  Draper  in  his  es- 
timate of  The  Imitation,  118. 
119. 

Unitive  way,  the,  176. 

Universe,  the  unseen,  74. 

Unknowable,  the,  74. 

Vastness,  quoted,  255,  256. 
Virgil,  147,  161,  162. 
Vision,  the  ecstatic,  179. 
the  mental,  296. 


INDEX 


273 


Voices,  the  Two,  242. 

Way,  the  illuminative,  172. 

the  unitive,  175,  176. 
Wenceslaus  (note),  108. 
Wesley,  John,  88. 
Will,  supreme,  262. 
WiU  3. 

free,  201. 


William  of  Ockham,  90. 
Wimpole  street,  209. 
Word,  the,  60,  61,  267. 
Wordsworth,  his  disciples,  8. 

his  ideality,  69. 

quoted,  79. 

Zigliara,  on  the  Supernatural,  78. 
Zohar,  quoted,  246. 


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